


Pilot, Afterwards

by tori_cat13



Series: Subject to Change [2]
Category: Fringe (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Harry is more than a bit not good, I take it back, M/M, Multi, Peter is a bit not good, Torture, Very explicit language, of enemies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-21 03:17:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10676583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tori_cat13/pseuds/tori_cat13
Summary: Harry, from Pilot, decides to finally retaliate. He also joins the fringe team.Sequel to Pilot which must be read first.





	Pilot, Afterwards

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a bit of a misnomer, since both this story and the last both follow the events of the pilot episode of Fringe but I just couldn't change the names. Harry, it is important to know, is not all that mentally stable right now and is at the very end of his rope. He'll get better later but for now... I'm not all that sure that Dark Lord title they slapped on him is just for show.

    The Thursday after the landing and subsequent burning of Flight 627, Harry J. Potter, walked out the front door of Saint Claire’s Mental Institution.

    Hermione Granger-Weasley did not show up for work the following day. Ronald Weasley and Ginerva Potter, both of whom lived in Potter Manor, did not report her missing. Ronald did not have a job, content to live off the wealth he had accumulated by being a “war hero” while Ginerva played professional Quidditch, leaving her son to be raised by the Potter house elves.

    Of course, Ginerva didn’t show up for practice that Friday either but it wasn’t so unusual. No matter how much she did or did not practice, it wasn’t like the Harpies were going to _fire_ The Lady Potter.

    Gringotts’ got a visitor that Thursday they never expected and nearly beheaded him for destroying most of the bank the last time he was there. The only thing that stopped them was the line of runes around his wrist that appeared when the sleeve of his garments slipped down his arm as he held up his hand and said with a power infused, “peace.”

    The runes carved into his flesh made them seethe, for the only time those runes should be used was when they carved into metal handcuffs to _temporarily_ bind a magical’s gift. The thought that a magical being—even a wizard—was cut off from their magic was abhorrent to them since they were beings of magic themselves.

    “I would speak to the head goblin and the Potter and Black account managers.” The Dark Lord Potter said quietly.

    They led him to the office of Head Goblin Ragnok. The goblin himself was already seated behind his desk and as Harry was escorted in, the Potter account manager and the Black account manager also appeared and seated themselves.

    “What can we do for you today, Dark Lord Potter?” Ragnok asked with barely-veiled contempt.

    “First, a blood inheritance test on _this_ ,” he withdrew a small child aged around four years and shoved it none too gently in front of the desk. “Then,” he reached into his robes and pulled a very large bundle of parchments out of them, throwing them on the desk as well.

     “Start with the blood test,” he ordered.

    Though the goblins were loath to follow any order given them by a _wizard_ , they were sufficiently intrigued by what possible business the Dark Lord Potter could have brought before them today. “You will still need to pay for the blood test and any other matters. You have been proven guilty on charges of Treason and pronounced dead; how will you pay?”

    Potter’s eyes glowed. “If you are unsatisfied by the state of affairs once I leave this office, you may _take your payment out of my skin_.”

    Ragnok’s eyebrow ticked upwards. “Indeed,” he said dryly, motioning a goblin to come forwards with the requisite materials for a blood test. The parchment read thus:

                   Full Name: Albus Dean Potter                                                Status: Alive—magical, Heir of House Potter, Son of House Black, Son of House Weasley 

             Birth Father: Dean Gareth Thomas (unacknowledged)                  Status: Alive—magical

                 Birth Mother: Ginerva Molly Weasley                                        Status: Alive—magical

                 Blood Adoptive Father: Harry James Potter-Black (illegal)         Status: Alive—magical (magic bound)

                 Godmother: Hermione Jean Granger-Weasley                          Status: Alive—magical

                 Godfather: Seamus Riley Finnegan                                           Status: Alive—magical

                 Sibling/s: Severus Ronald Potter (blood adoptive brother)        Status: Alive—magical

    Harry stared a bit, not quite ready to believe the last line before he snapped out, sending pulses of magic to his core and along the spider webbing lines that were his bonds to the Potter House elves. “By the blood of House Potter, bring me Severus Ronald Potter!”

    Hermione had been the one to ‘leash his magic’ as they put it. She had chosen the runes, then which runic arrays, where, and even when they carved the runes into his flesh and bones. The runes were around his wrists and ankles, over his sternum, down his spine, and carved into his ribs. All magic suppressing runes. Key word there, though: suppressing.

     While Harry couldn’t actively use magic, his body still created it. In a witch or wizard with a normal sized core, it wouldn’t matter. With Harry, though, he produced so much, naturally, and with the power boost he had gotten from killing Riddle, his magic was _incapable_ of _not_ being used. More often than not, it manifested as spatial and sometimes temporal anomalies. His natural gift of legilimency (which explained, he thought, how he’d always known when a lie was being told and how a simple shield charm could backfire into reading his professor’s mind) had been insanely overpowered when Riddle’s core had been added to his own by Right of Conquest, and Hermione’s stupid suppression runes had forced his magic to find alternative means of being used, exponentially strengthening his legilimency into something close to precognition in some cases. Lastly, Harry’s very being was suffused with magic which _always, always_ wanted _outoutout_ which meant though he couldn’t use his magic _outside himself_ he could use it _within_ himself. Hermione really was stupid sometimes.

    The brush of a thumb across his cheekbone was the final straw though. That was the moment one of the runes was overloaded with too much power for it to hold and one of the arrays collapsed. Harry was never meant to find his soul mate, he doubted Hermione had even taken the possibility of it into account; she probably thought the accounts of ‘soul mates’ too ‘illogical’ and ‘fanciful’ to be true, especially in this world of science. Hah! As if MAGIC ever needed _logic._ Honestly, what a self-righteous bitch, thinking that because it ‘wasn’t logical’ that wizarding ways were somehow _lesser_ than Muggles and their science. That was one thing Harry never understood, how Hermione looked down on wizards because they ‘would never think to use logic,’ well, of course, they had brains and could use them, could deduce and _use logic_ but they **_had magic,_** and magic did not actually have LAWS—no matter what those so-called Magic Theorists claimed and taught in schools—they were more of guidelines actually. Magic wasn’t exempt from the Laws that governed the universe but the rules theorists tried applying to magic was just…. He was getting off subject, damn psychiatric drugs. His point was, the soul mate bond that was initiated when Peter touched him overloaded the runic array to manage the magical bonds tied into his core, the ones no one could force him to get rid of without his complete and _willing_ participation—house elf bonds being one, family bonds being another, for example.

    A small pop announced a house elf bearing the Potter crest on its worn and dirty uniform _._ “Master Harry,” it squeaked. “We’s be tryin’ so hards to find yous, Master Harry. But the Bad Mistress and the Lazy Guest bes forbidding us froms looking. They’s bes saying yous is Bad Master and is Traitor.”

    “Hm,” Harry hummed noncommittally. “Have you brought me Severus Ronald Potter?”

    It nodded and tugged a small child of three years old. “Leave,” Harry ordered. “And have two of the elves clear up the Potter Townhouse and…” his eyes unfocused as he shifted his perception inwards and concentrated on his soul mate. The man was a bit agitated, and…was…in… Harvard University..? He’d have to look up where that was exactly but for now, he needed an in with Fringe Division. “Have another two elves clean up the house in Boston, Massachusetts, United States of America.”

    He pulled the child forwards and indicated the goblins do another blood test. This one… was a bit more shocking.

                  Full Name: Severus Ronald Potter                                                   Status: Alive—magical, Heir of House Black, Son of House Weasley, Son of House Potter

            Birth Father: Ronald Billius Weasley                                                       Status: Alive—magical

                Birth Mother: Luna Pandora Lovegood-Potter (unacknowledged)       Status: Deceased—magical

                Blood Adoptive Father: Harry James Potter-Black (illegal)                   Status: Alive—magical (magic bound)

                Godmother: Molly Weasley nee Prewitt                                               Status: Alive—magical

                Godfather: Neville Frank Longbottom                                                 Status: Deceased—magical

                Sibling/s: Albus Dean Potter (blood adoptive brother)                        Status: Alive—magical, Heir of House Potter, Son of House Black, Son of House Weasley

    Harry took a deep breath, “An heir and a spare,” he hissed venomously. He was beyond pissed. So beyond pissed. When he got his hands on the filth that _touched his sister!_

    “Where are the Wills of Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom?” He asked Ragnok.

    “They were sealed. By what right would you have them unsealed?”

     “The fact that Luna was my sister and Neville was my godbrother, acknowledged and claimed!”

    “Prove it,” Ragnok said, gesturing for yet another goblin to bring forth a blood test for Harry.

               Full Name: Harry James Orion Potter-Black-Lovegood-Peverell-Longbottom 

                           Status: Alive—magical (magic bound), Lord of House Potter, Lord of House Black, Lord of House Lovegood, Lord of House Longbottom, Lord of House Peverell, Lord of House Gryffindor, Lord of House Slytherin(by Right of Conquest), Lord of House Riddle(by Right of Conquest)

              Birth Father: James Charlus Potter                                     Status: Deceased—magical

              Birth Mother: Lily Hyacinth Potter nee Evans                      Status: Deceased—magical

              Blood Adoptive Father: Sirius Orion Black                          Status: Deceased—magical

              Godfather: Remus John Lupin                                            Status: Deceased—magical (lycanthrope)

              Godmother: Alice Loira Longbottom nee Whitley               Status: Deceased—magical (magic bound)

              Sibling/s: Luna Pandora Lovegood (blood adoptive sister)

                                    Status: Deceased—magical

                 Neville Frank Longbottom (acknowledged and claimed godbrother/ blood adoptive brother)

                                    Status: Deceased—magical

              Soul Mate: Peter Henry Bishop                                            Status: Alive—mundane, magical bond active

              Wife: Ginerva Molly Potter nee Weasley (illegal)                   Status: Alive—magical

               Children: Albus Dean Potter (blood adoptive son)(illegal)   Status: Alive—magical

                    Severus Ronald Potter (blood adoptive son) (illegal)      Status: Alive—magical  

               Cousins: see House Black file

               Proxies: Albus Dumbledore, for House Potter, House Black, House Peverell (illegal, DELEGATED)

                                                                                                                          Status: Deceased—magical                                                                                                                                                                                                 

                    Daphne Greengrass, for House Lovegood (in absentia, closest blood relation to House Lovegood through Pandora Lovegood and Megaera Greengrass nee Lovegood)  Status: Alive—magical

                   Ronald Billius Weasley, for House Longbottom (illegal)                     Status: Alive—magical

                    Hermione Jean Granger-Weasley, for House Potter, House Black, House Peverell (illegal)

                                                                                                                           Status: Alive—magical

    There were some very interesting things on his blood test to say the least. After reading it, he turned the paper over to the goblins. “I will see my brother and sister’s Wills.”

     Ragnok was intrigued by these plot twists and Potter did have a right to them. Soon the memory orbs were placed in the container. “Neville Frank Longbottom died August 3rd, 2005; Luna Lovegood died October 31st, 2005. Mister Longbottom’s will be heard first.”

    “This is the Last Will and Testament of Neville Frank Longbottom. All others made are hereby void. I am of sound mind and body, under my own power; may Magic judge my truthfulness. Also here with me is my best friend, Luna Lovegood,” Neville’s strong voice filled the room. Luna gave a dreamy hello before Neville started again, “I leave all my earthly possessions to my brother, Harry James Potter-Black and I don’t feel like saying the rest of those ridiculously long hyphenated names; I’m not Dumbledore.

    “I would have left stuff for Luna, but she informs me that she’ll follow not long after.”

    Here Luna cut in, “Halloween was always such a dreadful day for you Harry; I’m sorry for what’s to happen next.”

    “This Will is dated August 2nd, 2005; my godson was born last night and… I don’t even know why I have a godson. But anyway, I heard Ron, Hermione, and Ginny talking when Luna—well, you know Luna Harry, she told me to be where and when and shattered my world the same she did yours. Hearing what I heard, I thought it would be a smart thing to make a new Will. Honestly, I reviewed the last one and _can you believe it?_ I made **_Ron_** my sole inheritor and Proxy! It’s no wonder there wasn’t the standard truth pledge in it.

    “But anyway, yeah, shite end of the stick, for all of us. Luna told me what you plan to do with the trio, and Harry, _go for it mate._ As for the munchkin… Helga’s drooping tits, do I have no idea what to do on that front. I’m only godfather because—”

    Luna cut in, “Because they are evil assholes, that’s why! Harry, brother mine, let Magic judge on that front. On the other front, claim Rightful Vengeance and have Her judge our pain. And Harry, you made a promise earlier today, and your soul mate witnessed it.”  Well, it was nice to know his siblings were as bloodthirsty as he was. And quite nearly as violent.

    “So anyway,” Neville’s voice said, “as I said, all earthly possessions, et cetera, goes to Harry. Any law made with an illegal proxy voting Longbottom House is hereby voided.

     “Oh! I get to make confessions, don’t I? I mean, it’s not like anyone can do anything to me, being dead and all—”

    “Killed by poisoned butterbeer from Ginerva Weasley,” Luna chimed in.

    “Yeah, what a bitch. Anyway, so! Confessions: I hate my Gran, always have. Harry, I thought you were dead sexy from fourth year on—something about you facing down and outflyin’ a dragon, mate; don’t worry, the urge to jump your bones pretty much went away after that time I caught you dressed in drag and singing ‘We are the Champions’—the memory of which I have graciously sealed away in my personal vault if you want to take a look. I am not _even_ going to get into my issues regarding Snape; those can die with that man. Know how Trevor just kinda disappeared and no one even remember what year that was? Well, that night some of the Slytherins might have had the French delicacy of frog—or in this case, toad—legs. Malfoy had been a bigger prat than normal…. Dear Uncle Algie, oh, the number of charges I could have pressed on him for attempted line theft and attempted murder of an heir, too bad he was Gran’s favorite brother and much too bad he decided to push his luck and try to rape me. His bad luck that was the year Luna gave me a poison knife saying kitty scratches can hurt too. And his horribly bad luck he called me Kitten. I will never not love you for that, Luna. I talked the Weasley Twins into a threesome in fifth year and I was the one that turned Draco Malfoy’s fingernails hot pink the same year; that earned me a blow job from Fred in the Room of Requirement five minutes before the meeting started. You should remember that, Harry; you were the one that walked in less than a second after I zipped myself back in and Fred was still wipe the cum off his chin. And I gathered evidence you and the goblins will _both_ want and placed it in my personal vault before locking it so only my blood, your blood, and Luna’s blood will open it.

     “Oh, and Dumbledore bound my parents’ magic the night of the attack so their magic couldn’t heal them and placed them into the not-at-all specialized St. Mungo’s under the power of Who The Fuck Knows. He did that kind of shit a lot.

    “Last piece of advice Harry? I would add some form of castration to Ron’s punishment. Oh, and tell Dean about his kid, after you disavow them like we know you’re gonna, and punch Seamus in the testicles for me, yeah? He’s such a fuckin’ tool.

    “The House of Longbottom will end with me. All monies, possessions, estate, that is mine by right of being Lord Longbottom will go to Harry so he can do whatever the fuck he wants, wherever the fuck he wants but yeah, no more Longbottoms. Such a weird name; it’s no wonder my ass got made fun of until I started working out fifth year until you could bounce a knut off my ass—”

    “It is a very nice ass, Neville.”

    “Thanks, Luna. But anyway, Harry. Take my money!

     “Neville Longbottom signing off. Shit! I almost forgot to say that I love you, Harry. Shit, how could I forget that. Love you, brother; go rip them apart slow and painful. After all, everyone thought Dear Uncle Algie was attacked by a wild wampus. Now, I can sign off. Luna, anything you want to say on my Will before they play yours?”

    “Hm, I don’t think so; I can always use my own Will to be all cryptic and vague.”

    The memory orb stopped glowing and everyone just kind of… stared.

    “Huh,” Harry said. “So that’s what happened to Trevor. And he bagged the Weasley Twins, go him! And shit, are my siblings scary as fuck; I remember Algie Longbottom dying in our… what was it, second, third year..? Well, might as well hear Luna’s; this one’s going to be…something, for sure.”

    Ragnok cocked an eyebrow and shook his head as he switched out one memory orb for the other. The mostly airy and dreamy voice of Luna Lovegood filled the air, “This is the Last Will and Testament of Luna Pandora Lovegood. All others are now void. I am of sound mind and body, and am making this Will under my own influence; may Magic judge my truthfulness.

    “First and foremost, Severus Ronald Potter, you are no Son or blood of mine. May Magic cut these ties that bind.”

    With those formal words, Severus rocked forwards from his place on the floor, gasping. On his blood test, Luna’s name was now marked through.

    “Secondly, all that I am and has goes to my Brother in Bond and Blood, Harry James Potter-Black and as his Sister I now Proclaim him Hadrian Lovegood-Black, shortened to Hadrian Lovegood, forevermore. From this day, He will be a Lovegood-Black, foremost, but neither shall he completely lose his other names or titles. In my wish for him to be happy, I ask for Magic to judge my claim, my heart, my sincerity, and my plea. As Magic finds my Decision, so Magic mote it be!”

     It was Harry’s turn to hunch forwards as Magic ripped through him, rewriting his very DNA. He didn’t change very much, his cheekbones became more defined, his eyes healed from the near-sightedness, and his hair, still black, finally, _finally_ laid flat and gained a more silky texture. One eye turned the same aquamarine Luna’s eyes had been. The stupid lightning bolt scar disappeared as well.

    “Congratulations, Harry; you’re even more drop-dead sexy, as Neville would say. Though if I’d have said you were purely Lovegood, you’d have ended up with blond hair and eyes even more like mine. As it is, James Potter actually bore a most striking resemblance to his grandmother, Dorea Potter nee Black, so you kept more of your features, even if you now have Sirius’ dazzling cheekbones. The forehead scar is gone completely because Magic likes you best, Dear Heart, even if—especially because—of you no longer being able to wield Her Gift. Hm, I suppose I should call you Hadrian, or Rian, though…”Her voice took on a sly tint, “I suspect there will only be one person you’ll want to call you _Rian_ in the future,” He could practically hear the leer.

    “Thirdly, Brother Mine, on the subject of the things at your feet… the best path forwards on that is to disavow them, deliver the one to Dean, while glamoured as Ron. Punch Seamus in the dick while you’re there; he’ll follow you out to so he can find out how that whole plan got cocked up. As for the rape baby, shit… You know,” a dark sort of anger edged into her voice, “If that child weren’t entirely innocent in all of this, I’d ask you to kill it. I was forced to carry that; it’s father raped me for three days straight every few weeks to produce that thing, as ‘revenge against Loony Lovegood and Potter’ since Neville and I were the only ones to help and hide you during the adjustment period for the influx of power from Tom Riddle. It was meant to, as you guessed earlier, be the spare and another way to get more power. I believe they were hoping the Lovegood Sight would take hold, since Ronald already has a version—albeit weaker and restricted by the Cassandra Curse—of the Sight. Fools.

    “Since you’re going to be basically throwing Britain Wizarding Society on its head—though maybe it’s more like kicking over a mound of fire ants and then leaving—I would suggest letting Daphne stay on as Proxy since she’s Grey, fair, and will fight for the _Actual Good_ of Magic and Her Creatures.

    “On that subject, Susan Bones could proxy for Longbottom though it will change names to… Riddle. Wow, guess Tom wasn’t wrong when he thought his father came from a magic line. It was a squib by the name… Amory Longbottom who changed it to… Wars. Amory Wars, ya know what, fuck that Seer Squib. Thank Rowena’s braided hair, his great-grandson had an only daughter who married Montgomery Riddle. So yeah, that line is the closest one to the main line. Do you think Tom Riddle Junior is screaming in the afterlife about this?”

    Hadrian snorted. “Probably; he always was such a drama queen.”

    “Haddy,” Luna chided gently, “You would be a drama queen too if you were more than a few chimeras short of a Massive Dynamic’s lab.

    “And speaking of Massive Dynamic, did you know that when I was a wee little girl, I asked Mummy to buy me some stock in a tiny little company called Kelvin Genetics and that when _that_ went under, the stocks were bought back _slightly_ before then and were reinvested in a teensy little company that grew and grew and grew and now little Luna Lovegood’s controlling share of a company that literally has a slogan saying they pretty much do everything and don’t give a shit, is going to her Dear Brother, Hadrian Lovegood. I’m sure Peter will appreciate the sight of you telling that somehow _very_ shady but also somehow ultimately not untrustworthy red head of a liar that _no,_ she _will_ be helping Peter with whatever it was he wanted and _no,_ it will be out of the goodness of her heart and not for the connections he so meticulously cultivated with a tribe that gained his deepest trust and respect and vice versa. Really,” Luna huffed, “it was almost like she saw what he held most dear and then asked if he would carve out his own heart with a butter knife, for the amount of emotional pain _that_ betrayal cost him.

    “Next up, since Daddy died ‘under mysterious circumstances’—which I should really save for the confession portion, shouldn’t I?—I will all the monies and properties of the Lovegood name, hmmm. You know what? I’m going to be a bit unpredictable.

    “To Miss Daphne Greengrass, I now Claim you as my Family and Heir of the Lovegood Family, second only in succession to my Brother, Hadrian Lovegood-Black, who shall officially be Lord, with yourself as Proxy, may you serve our line with all due loyalty, for the benefit of Magic. From this day forth you shall be known as Daphne Greengrass-Lovegood, Lady Lovegood. As such, the Knowledge and ownership of Pandora’s Cottage and Xeno’s Bolt Hole will go to you as well as Knowledge of Trisana’s Lookout, which should make it easier to speak with your Family Lord when you’re in need. Oh, and I’ll need you to make a magical orphanage out of the Raven’s Rest. Harry and other magical children were often abused and then sent back due in large part to the Late Headmaster and no one will have the excuse to say wizarding Britain just doesn’t have the resources. To this endeavor, I donate the Lovegood Fortune, since all the money would have been willed to Hadrian anyway and he has more than enough.”

    Daphne Greengrass had been having what amounted to a normal day for her when a sudden wave of magic swept through her, leaving her eyes aquamarine and the locations of four properties, the wards for three, and all the plans needed to convert Raven’s Rest into an orphanage. She heaved a sigh and made several sets of copies of the plans from her mind so that she could send them to the appropriate parties.

    “To Astoria and Draco Malfoy, welcome to the House of Lovegood, even if you won’t wear the name like your elder sister Daphne. Draco, now you’re Family to Hadrian twice over,” you could just _hear_ the smug cat grin in her voice. “I’ve no doubt your paths will cross in the future, so don’t be stuck up, the both of you, Haddy, Draco; and Draco, Haddy can and _will_ eviscerate you if you make fun of my nickname for my Brother. And don’t think I won’t haunt you if you so much as think it. By the way, Magic is sometimes not the weirdest thing in the universe; you should remember that Draco.

    “To Scorpius Malfoy, I give you the Rook so you and your father have someplace to hang out and make fun of Weasels; it’s also a _great_ place to fly kites. I hope you enjoy the charmed ceiling that was once my room. I’ve placed mega strong cleaning and preservation charms so don’t worry about it being dirty.”

    The Malfoys had been enjoying a rare picnic together when the magic came. Astoria was a bit bemused, while chiding Draco about using that kind of language in front of Scorpius. Scorpius was bouncing a little as visions of kite-flying and a star-flecked ceiling drifted in his mind’s eye.

    “To…Hm, I guess I ran out of other people. Hadrian, you get everything else. Shit, I got distracted earlier about that thing at your feet and where to place it. And rename both of them, Haddy. I’ve given up claim by now, so could you strike him off the Weasley Family using Right of Restitution? Though it will make the second one—” She cut herself off and sighed heavily. “Though I obviously have no love for the child I should stop dehumanizing him.

    “As I was saying, it will leave the younger boy without any family if or when you disavow him. To keep him or not is your prerogative. Though I’m sure that many families would want a child to blood adopt, especially the old families who have lost so many during the fighting. There’s also… oh, Charlie Weasley and his partner are looking for a child and an exchange of one Weasley father for another would be less hard on his system. Haddy, you know the Words for this.”

    Luna hummed once more, obviously trying to think of any last minute add-ons. “Guess that’s all really. Except, Haddy dear, I found a certain little stone you dropped in the forest and think you should have it back.” You could _hear_ the sly smirk as the Resurrection stone appeared and floated before Hadrian. “Go on,” Luna’s voice goaded, “take it. With that we can talk regularly, Brother Mine.

    “Until next time, Luna Lovegood signing off,” With that chipper ending the globe went dull.

    A knock at the door behind the desk and a goblin stepped forwards to whisper in Ragnok’s ear. “It seems that two semi-retired dragon handlers are waiting in the lobby,” he said sardonically.

    “Right, let’s get this show on the road,” Hadrian clapped his hands together. The boys had never met, it seemed Hermione, Ron, and Ginny were keeping Severus’ existence a secret for whatever reason. Hadrian didn’t really care. Thank Merlin’s saggy ball sac the older kid wasn’t actually his and Ginny’s or he would have killed it. The younger one he probably would have killed if Luna hadn’t given him the Charlie alternative. He didn’t really want to think about his soul mate’s reaction to if he’d killed a kid. And we would tell him, just like he’d tell him about killing Hermione, Ron, and Ginny.

    “Albus Dean Potter, by Right of the Wronged, I take from you the name bestowed upon you and forbid contact with: Molly Weasley nee Prewitt, never shall you be her charge; Hermione Jean Granger-Weasley, no longer are you her Godson, may she feel the broken bond the rest of her days; Ronald Billius Weasley, no Uncle is he of yours; and Ginerva Molly Weasley, never were you born from her loins. From now on you will be Henry Dean Thomas, Henry for my lover as Dean was for your father and the woman who would be my wife’s lover. Furthermore, you are no Son or Heir of mine. May Magic judge my intentions and theirs, and do as She will. So mote it be.”

    The blood test struck out Ginerva’s, Hadrian’s, and Hermione’s names and the ink slid around to reform his name: Henry Dean Alexander Thomas.

    “Severus Ronald Potter, by Right of Reparations, no longer will you be the son of Ronald Weasley or the Godson of Molly Weasley. I hereby revoke their right to you. You will be the son of Charles Weasley and his chosen partner. I take the name bestowed upon you and leave it for Charlie Weasley and his Partner to decide. Furthermore, you are no Son or Heir of mine. May Magic judge the actions I have taken in regards to you and the hearts of the two who wish to take you in and may She do as she wills, so mote it be.”

    Both of the children had undergone physical changes when their parents and personal history shuffled about. Hadrian looked at the name on what used to be Severus’ blood test: Harrison Charles Newton Scamander. This blood test showed who he’d been before but any blood test that came afterwards would only list Charlie Weasley and Rolf Scamander as Harrison’s parents.

    “Please lead Harrison to his new parents and give them this; Charlie at least, will understand what it means,” He handed the blood test off to the goblin that took charge of Harrison before turning back to Ragnok. “The other matter is evidence of all the wrongs Albus Dumbledore and his two little sycophants and the slut have done to me. One day Luna sent me to Gryffindor Tower going the backway. I walked in on Granger and Weasley…discussing me. That was, incidentally, the day Luna and I blood adopted each other.

    “As you can see, comparing the medical record I managed to…acquire of my first year at Hogwarts, you’ll find clear signs of abuse and neglect, coupled with my statements—written in blood—of what exactly I did and did not know, and when I learned it, you’ll find that Albus Dumbledore was _stealing from me_. A few more pages in and you’ll find that the Potter account manager was also helping himself and Dumbledore, to my vaults.

    “More pages in and you’ll find the Ministry was helping itself to my family vault, withdrawing a frankly obscene amount each month for ‘war memorial maintenance’ which might I remind you, is _the cottage in Godric’s Hollow that **I** own_ and that they _stole_ from me and then had the audacity to steal more for ‘maintenance.’

    “Yet more pages in, you’ll find they and Dumbledore were stealing from the House of Black with both hands the entire time Sirius was in Azkaban. They only stopped when I became the legal heir, and then Ronald, Hermione, and Ginerva were the ones doing the stealing.

    “So you see here, I have _all_ the evidence you need to utterly wreck British Wizarding economy, since they’ve violated the Goblin War Treaties five ways to Sunday. So, here’s what you’re going to do: you’re going to take this evidence, make all necessary copies, _get my money back_ , and kick around the wizard’s government like so much sand making new and more equal treaties for yourselves and other magical creatures—I suggest working with the new Lady Lovegood—and you will help drag Wizarding Britain out of the Dark Ages kicking and screaming.

    “Meanwhile, I am going to take this kid to his father, punch an old dorm mate in the dick, hunt down those traitorous Weasels and kill them—slowly—while greatly enjoying it. I will also—” Hadrian moved, one moment he was standing there, the next he was across the room, with a sword neatly beheading the Potter account manager—“be taking his head.”

    The goblins had automatically started moving at the first sign of threat, the fact that the act was over before they could do more than start baring their weapons meant little. Ragnok raised a hand to his warriors and simply said, “As was your right.” He tilted his head. “Those runes which stopped my warriors from beheading you earlier, show us.” It was not a request and Hadrian supposed it was fair payment for the drama of his visit today.

    The goblins were horrified by the abominations carved into the young wizard’s flesh.  Harry explained how earlier that day he had met his soul mate in the muggle mental institution the lackeys had stashed him in and how the careless touch from his soul mate had over powered one of the runic arrays and loosened the overall arrays _just enough_ that Harry decided he could and would finally do something. Not the least of which being hunting down his soul mate.

    With the help of a few of the goblins’ connections—for a price, of course; their newfound good will had limits—Phillip Broyles received a notification from the British government informing him that one Hadrian Lovegood would be joining Fringe Division sometime tomorrow (Friday) morning, working with his team as a part of it, but ultimately not under the power of the American government, with a very clear emphasis on _no matter who holds power over Fringe Division_.

    With everything set up, Hadrian only had to drop Henry off with Dean before he could…have some fun with his ‘best friends.’

    All in all, Hadrian felt the trip was very much a success. He’d gotten Dean alone and showed him the blood test, explained and threw in a, “hope you don’t mind your former baby momma is a rapist” and burned the test in front of his face. He also punched Seamus so hard in the dick that Seamus immediately fainted and Hadrian was sure he wouldn’t be able to do anything except pee sitting down with it for the next month.

 

 

 

    Potter Manor was the exact same as the last time he had seen it. Except, wait, he never _had_ seen it because by the time he had _known_ about it, they had already been _hunting him down._ He’d had _only_ enough time to bond to the Potter House elves and those of House Black.

    And the thought that _they had been living here_ was enough to send Hadrian back into the cold and ruthless mindset he had been in before the Will readings of his two siblings. Now, now he stalked forwards; a knife appeared in his hand when he reached the gate. Without hesitation he sliced his palm and pressed it to the guardian sculptures, gaining access to the wards of his ancestral Manor _finally._

    He set the wards to total lockdown. No one would be entering or leaving without his express permission. The three were there, as he knew they would be. Using his telepathy and abilities to his advantage, it was easy to subdue them.

    He may no longer have access to his magic like they did, but Hadrian had always been a Slytherin at heart and was adept at not only surviving but _thriving_ on his ability to use anything and everything—be it his surroundings or his own strengths or weaknesses—to his maximum advantage. This was no different.

    He anticipated their every move, forced space and sometimes time to warp around him. Once they were in their cells in the dungeons of Potter Manor (his ancestors had never actually been _Light_ , after all) he used his bond to the Manor to make sure they would _stay there_.

    He wanted to start with Ginerva first, considering she’d be the quickest one done but first he had to set up the other two.

    “Hello, Hermione,” Hadrian said as he walked into her room, which was identical to the others in that it was stone flooring and wall and had a very solid steel door that charmed one way when the Master of the Manor wanted.

    “Now, now,” he chided, “is that any language for a lady to use? Though, I suppose you _don’t_ fit the title of lady; you never have, to be perfectly honest. Know-it-all, self-righteous bitch, ignorant mudblood, shrieking harridan, and backstabbing moronic condescending waste of intellect could all be applied to you in _wondrously_ fitting ways.”

    “You’ll never get away with this!” Self-righteous to the end and completely convinced she’s always right, Hermione was.

    “Ooh? Why? Cause I’m the bad guy and you’re the good guys and good will always triumph over evil? With perhaps, the power of love?” He mocked. He barked out an incredulous laugh. “Dear gods, you _actually_ believe that!

    “But thanks for reminding me; there’s something I have to do before I can cut into yer ugly hide.

    “I, Hadrian Lovegood-Black formerly Harry James Potter-Black, call forth Judgement by Rightful Vengeance and by the Right of the Wronged, and ask that Magic judge my heart, soul, intentions, and actions and those of Luna Pandora Lovegood-Potter and Neville Frank Longbottom-Potter and weigh them against the hearts, souls, intentions, and actions of Hermione Jean Granger-Weasley, Ronald Billius Weasley, and Ginerva Molly Weasley. May She judge and do as She wills, so mote it be.”

    Hadrian felt as if his whole soul was being flayed and he watched as Magic weighed him and all his past experiences. He had vivid flashbacks to meeting Peter, feeling his mind approaching Hadrian’s cell, how his magic tried to reach and glide and hook unto Peter but was unable to. He heard himself offer words of understanding and distraction from Peter’s own discomfort of being in such a place. He watched as he was yet again helpless to stop Hermione from _fucking with **his** soulmate’s mind_. Heard himself promise her death and the deaths of her husband and sister-in-law. Heard those compulsion-thick words in his soul mate’s voice, “After all, there’s no such thing as magic.”

    Then he heard Neville’s voice, “Luna told me what you plan to do with the trio, and Harry, _go for it mate_ ” and knew that Magic had made her choice.

    Hadrian took a deep breath before smiling beatifically at Hermione, “Let’s begin, shall we?”

    And so he did. He strapped her firmly to the table and took out a scalpel and _ever so carefully_ cut from the base of her skull to the base of her spine. He peeled back the layers of dermis and muscle until he reached bone, all the while Hermione was begging and screaming and shouting. She really seemed to believe she was on the side of the angels or at least that Harry won’t win for the simple reason of being evil. Ugh, save him from self-righteous hags.  He so very carefully cut the nerves in her spine, rendering her unable to move from the neck down. He didn’t have to cut all the way to the base of her spine to do this; just the neck would have been fine but he was a man of his word and had come up with this punishment as he watched his soul mate’s eyes glaze over and him taken away all in one fell swoop, or at least he would have been if Peter hadn’t reached out against all odds to touch him.

    Just to spite her he cauterized the wound and put her in a wheelchair none too gently and took great pleasure in her scream of agony as exposed nerves and burned skin and muscle thumped harshly against the wheel chair. “Promised you’d be paraplegic, didn’t I?” He said kindly.

    She had tears streaming down her face but her eyes spat venom, making him smirk in response before leaving.

   

    He went to Ron next.

    The other young man was chained against the wall with heavy shackles. Well, he was before Hadrian stepped into the room, then he was tied face down to the same table Hermione had been on before. “Hello, Ronald. Now, I already made a promise as to how I’m going to do this, but in light of recent discoveries and requests, I’m now debating a bit on the exact sequence of events—oh, I know, yes, that will do quite well.”

    Ronald tried to mouth off about Luna and/or Neville once. He didn’t get very far in his insult nor did he try it again. After Hadrian cut his spinal nerves, he cauterized the wound like he had done to Hermione and flipped him over. Then, he honored his siblings request and castrated Ronald and took a chunk of meat from his leg before cauterizing the castration site and chaining him back up, not caring about the bodily repercussions of his castration. Hadrian took Ron’s cock and balls and meat and left, making the time in the room speed by as opposed to the normal world outside it so Ron could starve.

    It was only possible because he, as Master of the Manor, had such power over _every single part_ of the Manor. Otherwise the effect could never be as wide spread as a whole room and certainly one he wasn’t in.

    “Hello Ginerva,” Hadrian greeted his final guest. “I know, I know, ‘Harry, love, what are you doing?’ Well, I’m punishing you. Punishing all of you. You see, Hermione visited me earlier today and gave me the motivation to finally lash back out at you all, not only that, she miscalculated and gave me the _means_ of doing so.

    “Now, I don’t think your crimes are quite as bad as Ron and Hermione; after all, I always knew you wanted to get in my pants and my ring on your finger, you never pretended to be my friend just waiting for the chance to stab me in the back. No, you were much more transparent.

    “Which is why,” he said with a dramatic pause and a flourish, “I’m going to let you go.”

    Ginny almost couldn’t believe her luck. She truly was married to the most forgiving _(naïve),_ kind _(gullible)_ , man _(boy)_ in existence.  “Harry, I love you; I love you so much. You’re all I’ve wanted since I was practically out of diapers—” she had been about to continue on, this time in the vein of ‘I’ve only ever wanted you’ when she caught sight of that sword-sharp fox grin stretching across Hadrian’s mouth.

    “After,” he said, still grinning that creepy as fuck grin, “after, I’ve gotten my pound of flesh…or so.”

    The afterthought of ‘or so’ really should have clued her in but it didn’t and so she spent the next while screaming in pain as Hadrian cut her; sometimes barely there butterfly kisses of knife, sometimes so deep it exposed bone. He aimed for very visible and non-vital areas.

    “Please, please,” She begged.

    “But I haven’t taken my pound yet.”

    “Please, just please stop.”

    “Then I suppose I should, shouldn’t I?” Her eyes held hope as she thought that he was going to accept her begging, after all, hadn’t he done enough? She’d be lucky to be able to cover these scars with glamours. “Take my pound of flesh?” Hadrian continued, very much enjoying the utter dismay in her eyes and mind. She hadn’t yet thought that maybe Hadrian was being literal but soon she would, soon she would.

    Hadrian moved to stand in front of her hips before carving her open with all the brutal anger from the many, many rapes as she had tried over and over to get pregnant with his child. Using that same brutality he reached inside her and pulled out her womb and cutting it free. “There,” he said over her screams, “my pound of flesh.”

    “That,” he explained, dumping the organ into a bowl, “is for the child you tried to steal from me. However—” an idea had come to him earlier while he was about to exit Ron’s cell—“what about punishment for all those other guys you slept with?”

    To this he sealed the wound on her stomach, not like it did much for anything else or all the other bleeding—he could only hope she didn’t die _too_ soon—and repositioned her so that her legs were up in the air and spread apart. Then he took Ron’s cock and balls and shoved them inside of Ginny and quickly sewed her vaginal lips closed with a sardonic, “Wouldn’t want them to fall out, especially since you never could seem to keep your legs closed.”

    Then he let her legs fall back down and reveled in the sharp scream of agony that issued from the girl. He moved up to see how she was. She was fading fast; he’d better be quick.

    “And your last crime; you wanted my heart, even though it was never and will never be yours and even though you coveted it so badly, you wouldn’t give me the same of you. I think a relationship is based on mutuality; you know giving in equal parts and all that. If you want something, it’s good etiquette to offer the same of yours first. So, you really should have done this before,” Hadrian was chatting as he cut open her chest and then used a rib spreader to expose that most vital and precious of organs.

    “You know, the hearts we draw, don’t actually look like the organ. The hearts we draw are actually _two_ hearts squished together into one and isn’t that just a sweet yet morbid thought?

    “But look at yours,” he said disdainfully, poking at it with a finger. “All small and selfish. Only thinking about itself and what _it_ wants and not about its so-called love or lovers. Hn, you can keep it,” he said with a particularly hard poke, “I don’t want your heart. Or anything from you really.”

    He stood back as she finally finished bleeding out internally and actually watched the moment her heart gave a little flutter and went still. He picked up the chunk of Ron-leg and exited Ginerva’s cell.

    “Rose,” he called. When the elf appeared he handed her the meat. “Please cook that and make sure it smells as absolutely amazing as possible.”

    Rose barely grimaced and popped away with a “Yes Master Hadrian.”

       He quickly ducked back into Ron’s cell to hear him whimpering, mostly about being hungry. It had barely been three days for him. “That’s pathetic, Ronald; it’s only been three days, you can really start saying you’re starving after about the eighth day.

    “I regularly had to go without food that long. Look, I even gave you ample water that you could drink, even without using your hands; you really are ungrateful.” Harry shook his head before bouncing over, “Well, I have to make this quick; who knew torture could get so boring and I still have most of Hermione’s punishment to mete out.”

    He quickly got to work removing Ron’s eyeballs, quickly but deftly. He had already finished one and was in the process of removing the other when he commented, “Sorry, not sorry about your sister, Ron. At least she died with a cock in her cunt, which I’m sure she was happy about. Maybe not too happy it happened to be _yours_ but you know, she really did love having dicks—any dicks, as far as I can tell—in her.”

    Hadrian wouldn’t go into details about _how_ he shoved Ron’s eyeball up his ass while keeping them intact, nor about how he more importantly _kept them there_ but suffice it to say, Ron did not enjoy it whatsoever, which was fine by Hadrian; after all, he had never particularly enjoyed when the red head had his head up his ass either. Hadrian left with a parting shot of, “If you’re good I’ll bring you some food him a few days.”

   

    Then he was back with Hermione in a regular time cell. She still seemed to think that Hadrian wouldn’t be able to break her because she was good and pure and Light and—oh gods, couldn’t she just _shut up_?

    He sheared her hair off. Then cut open her scalp, then drilled open her skull. “And look at it,” Hadrian said half-admiringly, “Three pounds of organic tissue that’s more or less exactly like everyone else’s.” He tsked. “Well, not for long. You remember my promise right? Well, let’s get started, shall we?”

    This was so far the easiest part, well not really, but his ability to know exactly what she was thinking, remembering, _losing_ with every piece of gray matter trimmed away and know how to taunt her _just so_ , was sooooo satisfying.

    He stopped halfway through because brain surgery is a delicate process and don’t let anyone tell you any differently. He had taken up quite a while and he needed to feed Ron.

    He reached the hallway and Rose popped back in with the Ron-chunk and _shit_ do the Potter elves know how to cook because, damn if Rose didn’t follow his instructions to the letter and make that Ron-chunk smell like the most appetizing thing ever. With a quick ‘thank you, Rose’ Hadrian took the plate and look at that, his house elves _are_ the best because it’s already in bite-sized pieces and everything.

    “Ronald!” he called, glad that this is going to be one of the last rotation between rooms since Hermione is half finished and Ron’s body is so going septic. “Were you a good boy, Ronald? Oh, who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy!” He cooed like he’s talking to a particularly dumb breed of dog.

    Then he waved the plate under Ronald’s nose and saw him trying to follow it. He saw Ron’s mouth practically explode with saliva. He spooned up a piece and fed it to Ron who groaned in ecstasy at the taste. Hadrian fed him two more pieces before saying, “Now, what would you do… if I told you that the meat you just ate, was what I cut out of you all those days ago?”

    Ron’s mind filled with horror and he almost vomits. There’s something so fundamentally _wrong_ about the thought of _eating yourself_ even more so than eating another human being.

    “And if I said it was pieces of Hermione instead?”

    Still horror but…but the bastard does indeed feel a bit better about thinking it’s someone _not_ —Hadrian can’t quite grasp it, not _me/family/bloodofmybloodfleshofmyflesh_?—

     “And if I said it was Ginny’s maggoty corpse? Your little sister who died with your dick inside her that you’re chewin’ on? That you enjoyed so very much?”

    That time Ron did vomit, right into his lap and partly way into the hole where the Ron-chunk came from and it’s from a mix between the revulsion of eating his _baby sister_ and the word pictures Hadrian used to so morbidly capture the idea.

    And with that leg, there’s no way he’d survive three more days in here, which would be about the same time he finishes Hermione, maybe a bit before so he told the red head, “Don’t worry Ron, I promise it’s not Ginny. It was just a few pieces of chicken the Potter elves cooked up.”

    He waved the plate under Ron’s nose again and Ron opened his mouth. Really, the things a hungry human would do and eat.

    Once Ron ate everything Harry stood up and stretched the kinks out of his spines, hearing the pops and cracks. He neared the door before turning slightly and saying, “That chicken… its name was Ron and it wasn’t a bird.”

    Then he watched the horror bloom across the red head’s face as comprehension set in. And left.

 

    Hermione was humming a bit to herself as Hadrian reentered her cell. It was a simple tune, the kind children hum. Her mind wasn’t much more active. “I just came from my last visit with Ronald,” he said by way of greeting.

    “Won-Won?” she asked with a childish tone of voice.

    “Oh, yes, Won-Won. Yes. I fed him cooked pieces of himself, from his leg, after starving him a bit. Apparently just like I always thought Ronald Weasley will, indeed, eat anything.”

    “How could you…” she lost her voice, though it’s gaining in strength and maturity, “How could you do that—do _this_ to another human being?” Hermione’s mind was still full of her conviction that Harry would lose because Harry was evil and Hermione was good— _abeaconoftheLight –_ her mind whispered to itself.

    “Don’t you get it yet?” Hadrian asked as he cut away her sense of smell and a fifth of her childhood. “You’ve been Judged and I’ve been Judged and out of you and me, _I’m_ the one as being seen in the right.”

    “But there’s no _logic_ in that!” Hermione wailed.

    “Of course there isn’t; not in the way _you_ would think, because we were Judged by _Magic_! When will you ever learn? Strapped to your deathchair and still trying to think like a muggle!” He angrily cut out memories of her parents and that one time with—the fuck?—that one time with Ginny during the summer before her fifth year, and then he cut out Dumbledore meeting with her in first year, when she agreed to be Harry’s ‘friend’ to keep an eye on him and control him and run to the teachers if anything—and to eventually take down the Dark Lord Potter and she had felt so smug and powerful then and every time she showed up at St. Claire’s and _“Matthew Knight”_ —

    Hadrian came across the memory from earlier, and he felt it and saw it from a view point not his own. He and Peter had looked natural standing next to each other, and both of them had been unconsciously gravitating towards the other. Hermione had seen the life in Hadrian’s face and known it was _that man_ to make it so and she had felt such power and delight in watching the recognition drain out of Peter’s eyes and the light drain out of Hadrian’s. She had felt so… satisfied, using Hadrian’s uncle’s words as the key. She had even felt vaguely amused by the threat Hadrian had delivered, not believing  it could have ever had even a chance of coming true and she had been planning to track down this Matthew Knight and use him, however she wanted to, to hurt Harry and—

    Hadrian cut out the part that controlled autonomic response and let her heart stop and her lungs stutter and then she was dead and Hadrian wanted nothing more than to restore her to how she had been when she swirled around and sauntered away, intent on finding any information about Matthew Knight in order to use him however she wanted to— _strong hands gripping her and she rode him oh how she would enjoy hurting Harry with this muggle man—_ and disembowel her for even _thinking_ she should or could or would touch Hadrian’s soulmate.

    Hadrian turned and left the room. He made his way to the Master suite where all of Ginny’s things had been thrown out and the room had been recently aired out. He went to the bathroom and took a hot bath after quickly showering off the blood and gore.

    It had been a long, long time since he’d last had a bath, or even hot water for that matter. St. Claire’s showers were always hurried and lukewarm at best but freezing more often than not. Before that, he’d only had the briefest amount of time hidden away with Luna and Neville. Before that it was Voldemort and Hogwarts and Dumbledore. Gah, he didn’t want to think about that.

    He soaked a while longer, basking in the warmth and the faint, humming connection of the bond when Peter was steadily working. Hadrian submerged himself further into the fragile bond. Peter was agitated, and worried, like he had been for much of the past few days. Mostly about the pretty, determined blonde agent, who was _trusting his father_ to perform a procedure that ‘wasn’t an exact science’— _it’s not even science_ —and Peter really doesn’t want her to go through with it— _I am telling you Olivia, that man will kill you!—_

Hadrian sighed and wondered what exactly he’s getting himself into before he shrugged, “At least it’s sure to be interesting.”

 

 

 

    It was a few hours later, dawn just breaking over the horizon when the bundle of papers arrived via Gringott’s eagle owl. Inside were a copy of his orders, books of standard procedures for _both_ government agencies, his brand new badges (one regular and one Fringe Division—though what good that second one will do in this universe and at this time he has no clue), plane ticket, accommodations for the duration of this case (since the transfer into Fringe is _permanent_ and he already owns a house in Boston anyway; he won’t need to camp out in a hotel or apartment hunt for weeks on end),  the case details of Flight 627, and a… ‘welcoming’ note from Special Agent Broyles who would be his superior while he worked in Fringe Division.

    As good a way to start the day as any, Hadrian decided as he got up. “I’m relocating to Boston and will be leaving to go to the airport in a few hours. I would like a light but filling meal since I need to head out to buy muggle clothes and travel supplies.” He paused, realizing he hadn’t given the elves much in the way of instructions, “At this time, I would like the Boston house to be ready for my moving in in about…oh, a week’s worth of time, clean everything top to bottom and stock the pantry with nonperishables; I’ll buy groceries when I move in.

    “Dispose of the bodies in the dungeons; I’ll leave the how, where, and when up to you all. Go through their belongings, I want anything that’s mine back, anything valuable place it in the east parlour under preservation charms and I’ll look through it when I feel like it; for the rest of their possessions, anything you think Charlie, Bill, Arthur, Fred, and George will like, send to them or treat it like the trash it is.

    “Tell the Black House elves to clean themselves and their places up, busy work, for the lot of you. I won’t really be able to take any of you with me, perhaps _one_ but I’ll be mostly living as a muggle amongst muggles. So, any who want to be freed or transferred, come see me; I’ll set up contracts with whomever you want, this goes for the Black elves as well. It’s not that I don’t want you around or don’t appreciate you; it’s not even that I can’t support you all because Hecate knows I could easily support 75 or more elves, perhaps even without the suppressions forcing my magic inwards. I just don’t want you all going stir-crazy.

    “Though…come to think of it, the Lady Lovegood should be working on plans for an orphanage, and a big one at that, so any who would be interested working there, should come to me and I’ll send the Lady Lovegood a letter asking her about it.

    “Other than that I don’t really know what else to say. So, let’s get started, shall we?”

    Immediately a tray with oatmeal and fruits appeared on the table as well as pamphlets on what was acceptable to travel with through an airport and what was not; his elves were strangely savvy like that and he wouldn’t begrudge them knowing these things when he didn’t; after all, he had been stuck in a mental institute for the last five years or so and had never even really thought about travelling by airplane before that for multiple reasons, mostly the ‘he had magic’ and the ‘he had nowhere to go outside Great Britain’ reasons but whatever.

    He got up and was on his way to the bathroom to get ready to leave when a flickering from the window caught his eye and he _swore_ he saw three of his elves warming their hands over the burning carcasses of those who had once claimed to be his friends. He might just love these elves.

    The shopping was easy, particularly with Hadrian putting on the air of ‘my gigantic piles of cash, roll in piles of cash.’ He got a basic wardrobe that would last him the week or so and then ordered a full wardrobe to be delivered to the Potter Townhouse and then delivered via house elf to the Boston home, which he should look up the name for, he really should.

    The choice of toiletries was much less bewildering than it could have been thanks to the elves’ pamphlets (he really might love them) and he was set and ready for the airplane ride, with clearly marked—for his own understanding—luggage and a carry-on bag that was also packed by his elves (this one also included small index like cards telling/showing him when it was alright to do what and bring out/play with what). His house elves were so damn conscientious, it’s almost ridiculous.

   He spent the trip mostly switching between playing the games his elves packed for him (whoever said magic and technology don’t mix was only mostly wrong—though Hadrian might be getting along with them a bit better than usual due to all the magical output he managed the last day or so; he’d practically been pumping it into his wards and elves which…might explain a few things, come to think of it…), reading the procedural books, and thinking about just what he was going to do about his soulmate… and Walter. Yeah, this could become sticky. That blonde agent saw him too.

    Meh, he’d just play innocent to the agent; even if she looks for records she won’t find them. Walter… heh, who was he kidding, he could tell Walter he ‘just needed to’ and Walter would accept it after all they’d been through in St. Claire’s.

    Peter though, he would have to break that memory charm. It would have been easier if he’d done it at the institute before it really settled but oh well.

    He was met at the airport by a man with tanned skin, brown hair, brown eyes, and a hoarse voice. “Hadrian Lovegood? I’m Special Agent Charlie Francis, of the FBI; Special Agent Philip Broyles has assigned me to escort you to your hotel and then to Harvard, where Doctor Bishop’s lab is.”

   The man was…loyal. Hadrian approved of this soon-to-be-somewhat-official-liaison. He would die for anyone who earned his loyalty and he was wonderful emotional and moral support. Hadrian could see why this man was Agent Dunham’s best friend.

    The car ride was fairly quiet, as Charlie tried to formulate a question that wouldn’t be too personal but he _couldn’t stand_ idle chit chat. He startled out of his reverie when Lovegood said, “I’m 23. Single, gay, got into the job because my father was in law enforcement and everyone expected me to follow in my father’s footsteps. However, I found my perfect little niche in investigating the weird.

    “I had a sister and a brother, both adopted, and were murdered three years ago; I finally caught the bastards,” Hadrian’s voice got dark and a bit breathy towards the end before it went back to normal, “got myself transferred when I heard they were proposing a new Fringe team, though it seems I showed up a bit early. Please call me Hadrian.”

    “What do you mean, you got here too early? You’re here about Flight 627 aren’t you? And what’s Fringe Division?”

    “That’s classified,” Charlie groaned at the typical answer. “But,” Hadrian continued, “ since it _technically_ doesn’t exist right now—being between teams and all—and seeing as how I have a feeling you’re going to be rather more involved than the ordinary Agent, I’ll tell you: Fringe Division is what the teams that investigate the… weird cases are called. Cases that are most commonly referred as the Pattern—capital P—which is pretty much an umbrella term for the cases that are so science heavy with such cutting edge tech, the cases end up looking more like magic than anything. Most of these cases are classified too; usually only Fringe members and higher-ups, certain private individuals representing corporations and others, they’re usually the only ones to really know about it.”

    “Why call it the Pattern?”

    Hadrian made a face, “Broyles would say something along the lines of ‘as if someone is experimenting, only the world is their lab.’ Personally, I think they call it that because it sounds sufficiently mysterious and cool.”

   Charlie snorted but couldn’t disagree.

   “Do you know the rest of the team?” Hadrian asked.

  “As far as I can tell, only Olivia and Agent Farnsworth are actually agents. Liv brought a civilian doctor and his son on board but I haven’t met them yet: Walter and Peter Bishop.”

     “I think I’ve met a Peter Bishop before; genius level-smarts, nomad lifestyle, impressive record with MIT.”

    “You mean when he falsified a degree from there and published a few papers while impersonating a college chemistry professor?”

    “Does it count as impersonation when you were hired for the job square and fair?”

    “What part of it was fair and square?”

    “He… impressed them at the interview..?”

    “With his false resume!”

    “I think it’s part of his charm,” Hadrian said.

    Charlie was silent for a beat before groaning out, “Oh my god, have you slept with him?”

    “No,” Hadrian answered before smirking a little, “Though I’m flattered you think I could bag him. No, we ah… didn’t part on the best of terms, and I think it would be best for everyone if I could meet him in private first.”

    “I ain’t helping you set that up,” Charlie said stoutly.

    “Eh,” Hadrian replied unbothered, “I’ll sort it out. Tell me more about my new coworkers?”

   The rest of the ride to the hotel (he was roomed across the hall from the Bishop’s somehow) and then to the campus passed swiftly. Yet, when they pulled into a parking lot close to the Kresge Building, Hadrian’s mind was pulled to the area where his soulmate was, restless and full of misgivings, Hadrian could feel the other minds nearby, including Agent John Scott and thought a little forewarning was needed.

    “Remember how I said I was a bit early? Well, that’s because most teams that a formed are sort of… well, they all sort of stumble across a case and are assessed on how well they handle it. So, this case—this case is the one Olivia Dunham stumbled across and with this case, it would decide if the Fringe Team was formed. Olivia Dunham hasn’t completed the case or been assessed or the others—Dr. and Messr Bishop—it hasn’t been decided if they—if Peter—will stay. So, no Fringe team yet; I’m upsetting a balance and an almost universal way of testing a potential team’s mettle. However, I have been part of many teams like this so my performance and skill set are already known; being a known quantity offers some stability in this situation.

    “But anyway, this case involves you as well, through your connection with Olivia. I believe given your natural mind sets, that you are going to be more on the fringes of our work, more like a liaison between us and the ‘normal’ divisions.

    “I’m warning you because there’s a very high possibility they have moved John Scott to the lab. As a close friend and a… we can realistically call you a civilian where Fringe is concerned—it will be hard to look at, to see, and to believe. But you should remember: this is the kind of thing Olivia will be dealing with from now on.”

    “How can you be sure she’ll accept the position?”

    Hadrian paused before just saying, “There’s a feeling of fate surrounding this case; it’s usually the feeling of a true Fringe Team being born. The kind of team that was made _exactly for this work_.”

    He could tell Charlie didn’t quite believe him yet, but he would, in time.

    Peter was, luckily enough, alone in the side office, unpacking some of the new sensors they would be using on Olivia shortly. Hadrian stood leaning against the doorway, watching his soulmate, just letting the waves of Peter’s mind crash against his own surrounding him. He opened his eyes and stepped fully into the room, closing the door and calling softly, “Peter.”

    Peter startled before his eyes widened. “Harry,” he whisper-shouted incredulously, “What are you _doing here?_ You should be getting treated back in Saint Claire’s!”

    Hadrian sighed deeply before cautiously making his way across the room. Though Peter was making an effort not to move and appear nonchalant, his eyes and body language gave him away. Hadrian stopped just out of arm reach. “Peter, will you trust me? She—Grange—that _woman_ —” he was having a hard time trying to pick out a name for her—“she messed with your mind, your memory.”

    “Harry,” Peter tried, “There’s no such thing as magic.” He sounded faintly pained, though even in his own mind, he was unsure of why this was hurting him, like being pinched in by something and trying to wriggle your way out without causing more hurt. He caught Hadrian’s eye, different from what he remembered them being; heterochromatic, his left being completely poison apple green and the right being an aquamarine. Then he felt a tug in his mind, like a wooden chest hidden under a bed for years before being dragged forwards and opened.

    Hadrian watched Peter’s eyes as he processed the new-old memories and compared them to the implanted ones. “Well, shit,” Peter said at length, “what a bitch.”

    Hadrian blinked before he let out a huff of surprised laughter, his mouth quirking up, “Quite,” he agreed.

    “So how are you here?”

    Hadrian smirked and he reached into his suit jack and pulled out his badge. Peter’s eyebrows rose before he shot Hadrian an unimpressed look. “Really?” he said dryly.

    Hadrian scoffed, “Hey, I went through all the proper(ish) and legal channels to get this assignment! I’m legit and everything!”

    “Harry, you were in a mental institute yesterday,” he pointed out.

    “I managed to escape and made my way to… well, I’ll tell you the full story some other time; right now I think I should officially meet Agent Dunham before she’s in her underwear. Suffice it to say, I made my way to beings who could and would help me, got control of my fortune, had lots of news dumped on me, am no longer hunted, got my name… well, magically changed, which made it a legal change, a change in biology, found I have terrifying and very loyal servants, and had a rather full day all in all.”

    “You said you’re no longer hunted; I take it something happened to Mrs. Granger-Weasley and her sidekicks?”

    “Well, Peter, you should know once I make a promise I always keep it.” That was all he was going to say; he knew his soulmate was a clever boy and yes, there it was: the memories of what Hadrian had _promised_ Hermione. Peter’s eyes widened just a little bit before a dark glimmer entered his eye. Morgana’s saggy tit, he was imagining it.

    Hadrian swallowed dryly before clearing his throat, “We should go.” As he turned his back on Peter, he could practically _feel_ the arched eyebrow before a shift occurred and damned if Hadrian could actually made out what it was, just a dark sort of amusement and the sense of being stalked by a panther amusing itself.

    Olivia Dunham was already in the fluffy white bathrobe, she was about to untie the belt when Hadrian called out, “Agent Dunham, not that I really mind but I think it would be less awkward to be introduced to a new teammate when you’re not in your underwear.” He came to a stop in front of her, scar-free forehead and heterochromatic eyes on full display. He held out his hand and introduced himself, “Hadrian Lovegood-Black, just call me Hadrian or even Rian.”

    Olivia Dunham’s mind was sharp and quicksilver but she was distracted and stressed and very, very worried about what she was about to do so she just put the thought of how similar he looked to the mental patient yesterday and moved on. “Olivia Dunham,” she replied, turning to Astrid, “This is Junior Agent Astrid Farnsworth. Walter Bishop and Peter Bishop, who I think you know.” The way she introduced them, she could have been talking about her suspicions of his being a mental patient or the fact that Peter had entered directly behind him; clever girl.

    Hadrian liked Astrid Farnsworth; her mind was interesting. She had a tranquil kind of attitude, kindness and forgiveness in almost every gesture she made. She was soothing. And yet, she was fiercely intelligent with a knack for codes and languages and an inner core of absolute steel. Luna and Neville would have adored her.

    Walter was… well, Walter didn’t have magic running through him, trying to burn away foreign substances. Right now, he was focused on his work but Hadrian knew that would change.

   As it was, the all headed to their preplanned places, except for Hadrian who felt a little left out so he took off his suit jacket, hanging it over the back of a chair and folded his sleeves up to the elbows, never mind the runic scar arrays circling his wrists: they all had the backstories and their dark stories here in Fringe Division.

    Hadrian had picked up the gist of the procedure from the team’s minds, in entirely different flavors of course. Olivia was focused on John Scott and going through the steps as she had been told them, simplifying them down and going over them again and again. Peter was thinking of the procedures in accurate, if not _extremely_ sarcastic terms. Walter’s mind was half on going over the procedure in extremely scientific terms and half on the extra LSD he managed to make and hide away for later. Astrid’s mind was flitting around to each of the myriad of tasks she had to perform and was also conscientiously going through the proper safety procedures for situations like this (bless that girl).

    It occurred to Hadrian, the moment he felt the sharp and _violating_ feeling of the electromagnetic probe entering the base of his skull that perhaps he should tone done his telepathy and stop observing Olivia’s mental state quite so closely. Though… he kinda wished _he’d_ had Peter’s arms around him, steadying him, _his_ voice murmuring, “I got ya, I got ya,” soothingly in his ear. Which, he sort of did because the subconscious need to feel his soulmate caused him to develop a double sensory experience getting so close to Olivia’s mind again to feel him. He could feel Peter putting the sensors on Olivia’s chest and heard him murmur, “I hope your guy is worth it.” Through her ears as he waited on a chair on the platform that John Scott was also on. Hadrian managed to pull back in time to _not_ catch the full wave of LSD and other drugs but it was still enough to dilate his pupils and make him sway in his seat.

    Not wanting to look drugged he focused more on Peter’s mind and Walter’s mind as well. He could feel the gratitude that went beyond words for the woman who had brought his son back to him and released him from that hell in one fell swoop. Walter’s mind was a very sobering place to be at the moment.

    All the equipment was set up and recording and now all that was left was the waiting game. “So, you never actually told me what you all were doing or what we hoped to accomplish with this.”

    “Synaptic system transfer; the Shared Dream State. As the drugs take effect, the probes will synchronize the electrical impulses from both. That’s what the brain is, an electrical router. Should be able to be interpreted by the other,” Walter explained pointing out brainwave recordings. “By the way, I’m Walter…” he trailed off.

    “Bishop,” Peter reminded him irritably. “Peter Bishop.”

    “I know, Walter; we were introduced earlier,” Hadrian said. “As for this system… it’s a shame you don’t have a telepath.” His tone was light but he couldn’t help the slightly wry tone and curl of his lips towards the end.

    “A telepath?” Walter asked, intrigued. “Have you met one?”

    Hadrian just gave an enigmatic smile and tilted his head without answering. He walked to stand next to Peter who was drinking a cup of coffee. “You should be a little more patient with him; the world is a stranger place than you believed it was even an hour ago; Walter’s been on the edges of this—a leading factor, even—for years, decades. And as for his mind and memory right now? Have you any idea the amounts of drugs he’s had messing with the chemical balance of his brain for years? The effects aren’t pleasant, especially when coming off of them, believe me.”

    “How is it you’re not… like that?” Peter asked, waving his cup towards Walter.

    Hadrian lifted his hand to tug a lock of hair behind his ear. He looked over his wrist, catching Peter’s eye before leading Peter’s gaze to the runes carved into his skin. He raised them again to look at Peter’s face as Peter focused on the scars. “My…unique constitution and circumstances makes it hard for substances to affect me, particularly harmful ones. But I had noticed some… imbalance the… ‘treatments’ caused in me.” He meant both the medical and not-so-professional things he’d been…exposed to for the better part of the last five years.

   “Didn’t have you on enough anti-psychotics, did they?” Peter teased.

   Hadrian’s mouth curled mirthlessly. “Apparently not,” he replied dryly. He paused for a moment before turning fully to face Peter, “I must thank you; if not for you, I’d still be there and at their mercy.”

    “I didn’t do anything. Did I?”

    “You managed to loosen my binds; a whole array collapsed because of you,” he said wryly, smirking at Peter. “It also gave me the motivation _to_ escape.”

    “How? How did—I didn’t do anything though,” Peter protested.

    In answer Hadrian just gave that enigmatic smile and brushed his thumb over Peter’s cheekbone, imitating the move that had freed him and set him on this course before going over to John Scott. At the pace the drugs and probes were working, it would take some time for the two to connect. But Hadrian could cut that time down some, not too much—it would be dangerous to Olivia—but a sizable enough chunk could be shaved off.

    He nudged John Scott’s mind a little, bringing his consciousness a little bit more to the surface then turned his attention to Olivia. The effects of the drugs were still a bit dizzying but he coaxed her mind into slowing down so that she was closer to sleep. The machines to record their brainwaves were sure to be a bit interesting for those moments but Hadrian made sure neither response was too steep so as to be troubling.

    As he felt their minds getting closer he paused. “She will be viewing his memory, won’t she? Since he more than likely didn’t get a name; she’ll have to watch the memory to get a look at his face,” Hadrian said slowly.

    “Well, yes,” Walter answered.

    “And…have you taken into account the trauma she’ll receive from essentially watching or even reliving the memory from his perspective? Doubtless, the memory of the suspect’s face will be closely tied to the memory of the explosion and since he’s in a coma, he’ll have no control over how much she sees or when it stops.”

    “Oh, dear,” Walter said at about the same time the computers started chirping, alerting them to the fact that the two minds were now connected. “Nothing for it now, really; we’ll just have to make sure to have some counter drugs and perhaps some diazepam ready.”

    “You mean she could go into a seizure?” Peter asked with sharp incredulity.

     Hadrian turned his attention back to John and Olivia. She had gone through some rather disturbing scenery shifts before she and John had met in the middle. Hadrian could feel how at the edges of their minds there was some sort of…was that transfer? He decided to focus in on that a bit more and ended up just making copies of those memories and ones John had shoved into the same mental box. He felt his eyebrow rise; apparently Agent Scott had more to do with the Pattern than many thought…

    He shifted his focus back to John’s recounting the memory. He could feel Olivia’s mind getting closer, going from observing to trying to be the one living it and he ‘pushed’ her back a little, hoping to keep the trauma to a minimum but her mind was determined. It almost felt like she was losing her sense of self, the barriers between ‘John’ and ‘Olivia’ blurring.

    The sensors started beeping urgently, telling of Olivia’s distress. They raced to get her out of the tank. Her recovery was slightly quickened by Walter having the counter agents on hand and Hadrian working to push the trauma of being _blown up_ from her mind.

    “I saw him,” she gasped. “I saw his face.”

 

 

 

     Hadrian and Olivia were in the Federal Building, trying to ID the man Olivia saw in John’s memory.

    “You saw him?” Agent Francis asked. “What do you mean you saw him? Saw him where?”

    Olivia shook her head as she sat at a computer terminal and pulled up a facial rendering program. “I told you not to ask me that, Charlie.”

    Charlie glanced over Olivia’s head to Hadrian who tapped his temple and mouthed the word, “Fringe.” Charlie’s face pulled down into a ‘the hell?’ expression and Hadrian could only shrug.

   “This is him. This is our suspect,” Olivia said, something like triumph and certainty mixed together in her voice. She had a fellow agent run the profile for matches with no results from the preliminary criminal records check.

    Another agent came forwards holding a photo, “Agent Dunham, look at this.”

    The slightly tanned skin, brown hair and eyes, the bone structure, they all matched. She turned the photo over, staring in slight incomprehension as the back read ‘Flight 627.’ “Oh my god, this is him.”

    The agent nodded. “Yeah, he was a passenger on Flight 627.”

    “Maybe he has a twin,” Hadrian quickly put in before anyone could start questioning Olivia’s mental state.

    “Hold on guys,” the female agent that had been searching databases said. They waited a few moments longer as she typed some things out and then the printer started. “Morgan Stieg was passenger number 108; his emergency contact is Richard Stieg.”

    She took the page just printed and handed over Richard Stieg’s profile including a picture that looked even more like the man from the memory than the first picture. There was a certain ice to his eyes that was entirely absent from his brother’s. Indeed, where Morgan’s eyes were a warm, melting chocolate brown, Richard’s flashed and the downward tilt of his mouth seemed to indicate a certain ruthlessness.

    “You’re telling me he has a—” she cut herself off as she read the name of his last employer.

    “What is it?”

    Olivia turned to Charlie half incredulously, “Richard Stieg’s last employer.”

 

 

 

    It was as the taxi was pulling up in front of Massive Dynamic’s building that he felt it: a mind unlike any he had come across before. His own latched onto it to try to get a better feel.

    A language he didn’t know, in a voice he’d never heard, making so many observations it was staggering. The mind was…structured in a way he’d only seen in Master Occlumens but without the shields to keep out intruders. He got a glimpse of the universe in that mind and it was truly beautiful. It also knew he was watching.

    He pulled from the mind as he and Olivia got out of the taxi but couldn’t resist a glance backwards in the direction of the mind and saw a bald man in a suit with a fedora and a metal suitcase staring at him. Hadrian tilted his head and turned away as he followed Olivia inside.

    A woman by the name of Danielle, who was Nina Sharp’s personal assistant, was waiting for them with a pair of visitor passes. She escorted them through the building which had white walls with constantly moving words, numbers, and logos; some even looked like stock prices. They eventually arrived in a cavernous space with angled walls and ceiling with a single large glass table desk positioned next to the windows on the far corner behind which a red headed woman of about 60 or 70 stood.

    “I was hoping to speak with William Bell,” Olivia started.

    “I’m Nina Sharp, Executive Director. I only have a few minutes,” she said. Her mind was… well, it wasn’t dark per se and calling it ‘slippery’ would be a misnomer. She was full of secrets, this Nina Sharp, and gave off a completely untrustworthy and yet she held such loyalty within her. Mostly towards William Bell and Massive Dynamics but also strangely enough she felt…something? Towards Olivia—a sort of…history that tied into very complicated memories.

    “Our primary suspect is a former employee of yours; Richard Stieg, who may have used research from your company to develop a self-eradicating airborne toxin. We don’t know why, or for whom, but it appears that he was willing to sacrifice his own brother. Whatever killed those people on that plane got on board through _his_ insulin pen. So do you want to talk to us?” Olivia said, almost challengingly.

    There was a long moment of silence as Nina Sharp weighed the pros and cons and what she could and _would not_ tell them. Her assistant moved up to hover near Olivia and Hadrian’s shoulders in a way that vaguely threatened she could and would throw them out if necessary. He saw Olivia tensing up, already thinking about time running out and court warrants that wouldn’t be available until days after John died.

    Then Nina inhaled and said, “Danielle, assemble everything we have on Richard Stieg for Agents Dunham and Lovegood.” Nina handed her assistant what appeared to be a thin rectangle of opaque glass but Hadrian knew was a handheld MD tablet prototype. As her assistant walked away Nina sat down, folding her hands together under her desk and continued, “I remember Richard Stieg. He worked in our weapons-systems research lab. He was caught trying to leave the premises with classified information and was immediately terminated. We referred his name to the Justice Department. We have done our due diligence, Agents… and if you choose to drag this company and Dr. Bell’s name into this matter, you will be hearing from our attorneys.”

    “How long have you worked for Dr. Bell?” Olivia asked, though Hadrian couldn’t really see the point.

   “Sixteen years,” Nina replied stoutly. “I owe Massive Dynamic my life—and that is not an exaggeration. I was a runner most of my life. In the ’97 Boston Marathon, I felt strangely tired. One day at the office, Dr. Bell noticed my discomfort and insisted I go for a CAT scan. Cancer.” She stood up and walked around the desk, pulling the skin off her right arm like a glove revealing the robotic limb underneath; Olivia looked a little freaked. “It spread so severely I had to get my arm amputated that same week.

    “That first scanner,” she went on, leaning back against her desk as she stood between the two seated agents, “that found my cancer—was built by this company. The robotic assist tools that were used in my surgery, the drugs I took afterwards, were developed and manufactured by Massive Dynamic. And my…replacement limb… was designed by Bell himself.”

    For some reason Hadrian wanted to say, “That’s real pretty but it don’t answer my question.” Instead he said with a dark sort of amusement, “Your company must have one hell of a benefits plan.”

    Sharp gave him a somewhat surprised glance and smirked at him, “That it does.” He also wanted to compliment her on such a masterful misdirection technique that utterly distracted Dunham and left no more time to ask any discerning questions. Already Danielle was approaching Sharp and handing her the file which Nina took before handing it to Olivia while saying, “Everything we have on Richard Stieg.”

    She took a step forwards and asked Olivia, “Do you believe that Stieg may be part of the Pattern?”

   Olivia was about to open her mouth when Hadrian cut her off, standing up himself saying, “We can’t divulge any information or theories about ongoing investigations.” He gave her a cat-sharp smile, “I’m sure you understand.”

    “Of course,” she replied easily enough even though her face was unreadable. “Suffice to say that we’ve reached a point where science and technology have advanced at such an exponential rate for so long… it may be way beyond our ability to regulate and control them. You should know what you’re getting yourselves into, Agents.”

    Hadrian hummed a little bit, going over the memories he had gleaned of how she had _really_ lost her arm. “I’ve always believed that some things are not ours to tamper with; some things are God’s.”

    Nina’s face paled drastically and her cybernetic arm spasmed before she regained control of herself. She breathed slowly before saying, “ I would say this to my own daughter…and son: be careful”—she paused looking deeply into Olivia’s eyes as if trying to impart a warning for the future before lightening her tone—“and good luck.”

    Olivia waited until they were in a taxi on the way to the airport before she turned to Hadrian and asked, “What the hell was that?”

    “Do you mean the part about the Pattern or the part where I almost scared the living daylights out of her?”

    “I actually meant the part about the Pattern but since you brought that up let’s talk about that too,” she said, and it was in no way a suggestion.

    Hadrian sighed a little before choosing his words carefully, “You’re not actually cleared to know this yet but this—the weird incident on the plane—has happened before. Well, not _this actual_ thing but… as Miss Sharp put it, uncontrolled and unregulated tech, have caused problems before. Broyles will or at least might, tell you more about it later so don’t let on that you know anything about it other than Nina Sharp asked if this case might be related to it and told—implied—that she had a higher clearance than you, which she kind of does, in a general sort of way.

    “And as for the scaring her thing… well, I guess she might have heard someone say something similar to it once. How was I to know that opinion would mean anything to her, or that choice in words?”

    Olivia couldn’t argue that but she also couldn’t let go of the suspicion that he _had_ known beforehand what those words would do to her. And speaking of… “You know, I never forget a face,” she said, apropos to seemingly nothing.

    “Must be a very useful skill,” he said, playing ignorant. “Especially in this line of work.”

    “Oh it is. But your face and eyes… I met someone just yesterday who looks a hell of a lot like you.”

    “Oh?”

    “Yes. You wouldn’t happen to have a brother name Harry, would you?”

    Hadrian hummed. “No, actually, my brother, who I shared pretty much no physical features with, was named Neville and my sister, whose eyes match this one”—he pointed to his right eye—“her name was Luna.”

    “Was?” Olivia asked gently.

    “They were both murdered three years ago; I just managed to bring their murderers to justice this year.”

    “So you’ve been in law enforcement for long?” She fished.

    “My father was in it and I did what everyone expected of me and followed in his footsteps. It’s good work but I finally found my passion investigating the ‘weird’ cases, like this one; love the thrill. Though… most people and teams don’t last long; you pretty much have to be born for it.”

    “How old are you anyway?”

    “Twenty-three.”

    “Wow, that’s young.”

    “Mm, I was 18 when I got my first official job in law enforcement, not counting the training I got beforehand in it—I was practically born and raised for it.” He wasn’t even lying really; he _had_ become an Auror, had been one for almost a year before and had even managed to get assigned briefly to one of the Fringe teams in Europe that was an experimental joint muggle-magical team before his powers had started to grow and his ‘friends’ started telling everyone he had gone Dark and tried hunting him down.

    The plane trip was suitably uninteresting and when they got back into Olivia’s car, she called Peter. Hadrian could faintly hear loud cartoons on the other end of the line as he mentally eavesdropped.

    “Crazy house,” Peter greeted.

    Both Hadrian and Olivia smirked a bit at that before Olivia said, “We just landed at Logan. We’re on our way to you. We think we’ve located our suspect.”

    “Hold on a second, you found the guy? The guy from your dream?”

    In lieu of an answer Olivia said, “I’m picking you both up; I need your father there to question—get whatever information he needs so he can make the cure for John and I need you there too in case your father’s…” She trailed off, making a rather helpless hand gesture to try and describe what Walter could be like.

    “Say no more. We’ll meet you out front.”

   The drive was quiet between them after that—with Olivia calling Broyles to update him and coordinating the strike they were setting up thanks to the address they got from Massive Dynamic—until they pulled up in front Kresge Building.

    Peter slid in behind Olivia and Walter took the seat behind Hadrian. “Hello…” He trailed off, seeming to have forgotten their –or at least his—name.

   “Agent Olivia Dunham,” Hadrian gestured to her, then turned in his seat and held out his hand for Walter to shake. “I’m Agent Hadrian Lovegood.”

   “Hello, Harry,” Walter said, shaking his hand. Hadrian could practically _feel_ the uptick in Olivia’s eyebrow.

    Peter covered for him and explained, “Walter’s been having trouble remembering names, especially first names. He’s been calling Agent Farnsworth pretty much every variation of Aster or other similar names all day.”

    “Suppose I’m a bit lucky he decided to call me by what could, arguably, be a diminutive of my name, Hadrian said to Peter. “Though, Luna always called me ‘Haddy.’”

    Peter smirked. “Haddy?” He repeated with the glee of someone who found something to tease someone over for _eternity_ with.

   “Yes.” Hadrian answered curtly. “I will in no way _ever_ be ashamed of that fact.”

    Peter pursed his mouth a bit at hearing the absolute truth in those words; it wouldn’t be as fun teasing someone so utterly unembarrassed but damned if he wasn’t going to try it with every ounce of his annoying charm.

    Hadrian rolled his eyes at Peter before turning forwards again. “I think Stieg is probably a weasel-y little bastard that’ll try to squirm his way out of being captured; I’ll look for alternate exits if that’s alright with you, Agent Dunham?”

    She considered it before nodding. “As long as we catch this guy and get him to talk….”

    Hadrian nodded in understanding and agreement.

  

 

    The address was in South Boston and by the time they arrived police and SWAT were swarming the area setting up snipers and everything. Taking the condition of the corpses on Flight 627 into account, Hadrian figured they weren’t really over doing this.

    He and Olivia got out and strapped on bullet-proof vests that Hadrian wasn’t exactly sure he needed considering time and space warped around him and his magic forced foreign and harmful material out of him and increased his healing. Buuuuut… never could be too careful he guessed. Though, now that he thought about it, he wondered if a bullet to the heart or brain would even kill him—not that he really wanted to test that or anything. Still, it would be useful to know.

    All the teams heading inside were wearing gas masks and Hadrian could _feel_ Peter tamping down on the urge to ask, “Are you my mummy?” which made his lips twitch. Hadrian himself was circling the building, cataloguing likely exits. He skimmed the minds in the building searching Stieg out. All the minds in the area were buzzing. It was… he hadn’t experienced anything like this in a while.

    In St. Claire’s the inmates were all varying levels of drugged and mentally disturbed which was its own form of mentally and emotionally stressing; he was honestly kind of wondering over how he came out of that place as sane as he was. Which… hn, might not be as sane as he’d have liked but the grounding element of the soul bond—weak though it was right now—was certainly helping him gain an even keel and time could only help his stability.

    But the point was, he wasn’t used to so many minds being in such close proximity and definitely not as active and emotionally distraught as they were now which is why he reached for Peter’s mind again. He was sitting in the car with Walter, on edge because of it. Walter was asking Peter not to send him back, after this case was over. Peter wanted so much to snap at Walter but Hadrian’s own words were replaying in his head, “You should be a little more patient with him…Have you any idea the amounts of drugs he’s had messing with the chemical balance of his brain for years?” Hadrian could hear Walter’s words echoing as well: “This experience…you. You woke me up again and, heh, you can’t put me back to sleep.”

    “It was hardly my idea, any of it,” Peter said but his mind brought up a picture of Hadrian, how the light caught his dual-colored and _intriguing/beautiful/unique_ eyes and Hadrian’s face and voice as he said, “I must thank you; if not for you, I’d still be there and at their mercy.” There were shadows in his eyes as he’d said that; the same shadows that entered Walter’s eyes as he said, “Whatever punishment you think I deserve… I swear, I have already endured it…seventeen years.”

    Hadrian heard a loud metallic screech of a door being opened through Peter’s ears. He was on the other side of the building. Using Peter as a focal point he caught onto Stieg’s mind; he was going to make a run for it. Hadrian’s eyes fluttered closed as he let his senses un-focus and ‘take in the big picture.’ It was much like being focused on a thread in a tapestry and tracing it and then taking a half-step back, letting go of the individual thread to see how the different threads weave together and then form a picture. He let the thoughts of all the minds surrounding him weave together to form a picture of the likely future.

    “Yeah, as much fun as a romp through the city and Agent Dunham chancing breaking her legs seems,” he grumbled to himself as he broke into a run, intercepting the end of the alley, “I’m gonna have to ‘No’ that.”

    He and Stieg met at the end of the alley, on the other side of the block. Stieg pushed Hadrian down and Hadrian twisted as he fell, tangling his legs with Stieg’s, causing the man to face plant. Peter came around the corner as Hadrian was rolling over and pushing himself upright, even as Stieg was doing the same. Hadrian kicked out, hitting Stieg in the chest and flipping him over. The breath was knocked out of him and Hadrian was just about upright when Peter reached them. And proceeded to punch Stieg in the face, twice. Hadrian pursed his lips and decided to steal Olivia’s thunder so he planted a boot on Stieg and pushed him down, leaning over him menacingly, “We’ve got some questions for you,” he said as Olivia rounded the corner. Hadrian looked up at her the same time he pressed down with his foot, making it clear that if Stieg tried to do anything while he ‘wasn’t looking’ that Stieg would regret it. “Agent Dunham,” he called in greeting. “Care to do the honors?”

    She was leading Stieg away in cuffs to be transported to the federal building when Hadrian and Peter meandered back towards her car. “Are your knuckles alright?” Hadrian asked Peter.

    Peter looked over at him and let out a huff before holding out his hand and showing Hadrian the back of it. The knuckles were a bit red but not split. Deciding to test the waters in regards to his soulmate’s sexual orientation and general disposition to his touch, he took Peter’s hands between his own and held it, bringing it closer to his face in the guise of getting a better look while caressing the slightly swollen knuckles. “Doesn’t seem like you hurt yourself or anything,” he said before relinquishing it a little reluctantly. Peter gave him a vaguely questioning and somewhat calculating look, as if weighing whether Hadrian was showing _interest_ or was just naturally like that. He blinked placidly back, not quite ready to make a move on his soulmate, even if the interest Peter showed for Olivia Dunham grated on him.

    During the ride to the federal building Hadrian leaned against the window, once more sitting in the front passenger seat. He could feel Peter turning over the pros and cons and weighing his options between Hadrian and Olivia because even if she was in love with John Scott there had _undoubtedly_ been sexual tension between the two. Peter wasn’t gay and he wouldn’t exactly call himself bi but neither was he completely straight and Hadrian was definitely attractive. His eyes, the way he moved like a predator, his mysteriousness were all attractive qualities. But what Peter really liked, was _really_ drawn to, was that darkness inside Hadrian’s soul that was echoed in his own.

    Olivia was a bit like sunlight—or she could be, he knew—but Hadrian, Hadrian was darkness and hate and all the things inside Peter that he had never gotten proper control of. Sometimes he tried hiding it, pretending it didn’t exist, but that only seemed to make it lurk closer to the surface. He also reveled in his darkness when he stopped trying to deny it was there.  But Hadrian, he acknowledged and perhaps even embraced his darkness but unlike Peter, he somehow tempered it. Though Peter had only known Harry—Hadrian—for a day, he could already tell that Hadrian was ultimately a good person at his core, even for all his darkness; Peter? …Wasn’t that. He was more… Grey, he supposed. Every day he walked a fine line between being a good person and being a bad person; he had a great capacity to be either, or both.

    It was Hadrian’s base goodness that let him think maybe they wouldn’t crash and burn, be toxic for each other, or enable evil in the other. No matter the actions they’d take, Peter was sure Hadrian, unlike others of moral ambiguity Peter could have chosen to get involved in, would never let them truly _cross the line_ , which was something he appreciated since Peter acknowledged he couldn’t always _see_ the line (something he thought maybe he got from his father).

    “Our priority goal in interrogating Stieg is to get him to make a precise list of everything that was in the storage units, isn’t it?” Hadrian asked with his eyes still closed. He’d been processing his body’s reactions to all the thoughts around him and trying to strengthen him shields to keep the interference to a minimum; it wasn’t an easy thing, hearing and feeling and sensing everything from _everyone_ around him and he was quite out of practice in such an area of high population concentration with _normal_ people.

    “Yes,” Olivia replied. “We need that list so that Dr. Bishop can find a cure for John.”

    “Do you want me in the room as you take a first crack at him or should I wait with Walter and Peter wherever you tuck them away?”

    “Do you have any experience in interrogation?”

    Hadrian hummed. “Not the kind that takes place in a well-lit room, with chairs and polite conversation.” He felt Peter’s interest pique at this glimpse from Hadrian’s past, knowing what he’d meant without outright saying it: that Hadrian had experience in torture as a means of finding answers. He hadn’t been meant to know it but Moody had thought it would be an essential thing for him to know and had taught Hadrian without Dumbledore’s knowledge (he’d also taught him how to _withstand_ torture and all about the psychological war that went on during it— That skill had been quite invaluable to him in regards his interactions with his former ‘friends’).

    Olivia herself was intrigued—and a bit wary—about this new information on her quasi-teammate, wondering just _who_ he’d worked for that they’d _sanctioned_ torture. “I’d like to take first shot at him; I’m obligated to do this by the book.” She paused, wanting to say something reassuring but not wanting to come off as condescending or patronizing or self-righteous about how immoral torture was—honestly, _she_ wasn’t entirely sure the lengths she would go to, to keep her loved ones safe, so she wasn’t going to judge Hadrian’s past as to who he was as a person or whatnot. In the end she just said jokingly, “I’ll call for you if I need you to stand there and be intimidating.” She saw the corner of his lips pull up into a half-smile while Peter snorted behind her.

    “Thanks, Liv,” Hadrian said dryly, “I’ll make sure to be an especially intimidating piece of silent furniture. It never hurts to practice one’s looming skills.”

    For the first time in days, Olivia chuckled a little bit while grinning wryly and shaking her head.

   

 

 

 

    The federal building was just as it was earlier that day: multiple floors full of agents flittering to and fro on various assignments. The buzz of—mostly—competent minds each focused on tasks was actually rather soothing, as opposed to the emotion-driven buzz of minds he’d experienced when they had taken Stieg down.

    The room Olivia ensconced them in after getting various passes and lanyards made for them was quite nice, a set of television screens let them see and hear what happened in the interrogation room, the audio equipment proved to be a nice distraction for Walter, and a small table against the wall that held said audio equipment also provided coffee, water, and a small bowl of fruit. Even the chairs were reasonably comfortable for being made of wood and metal.

    As she’d requested, Olivia went in alone at first. She listed off his offenses using U.S. codes and everything. Peter and Hadrian sat at a small table to watch the interrogation and still keep an eye on Walter. They were both interested to see how she’d handle this and if her by-the-book approach would work on a mad who had gruesomely murdered his brother and 146 other people. Hadrian didn’t particularly think it would and by the faint headshaking, neither did Peter.

    Hadrian moved his head closer to Peter to comment in an undertone, “Is it just me, or does he look much more attractive rather roughed up? I mean, you can’t really tell over the cameras, but I caught a look at him in person as they took him to that room and….”

    Peter glanced over at him, then to the TV and then to Walter. “Nah, I don’t think it’s just you. Somehow…”

    “I know. Like, I’m not really in to sadism or blood play or anything but that man does look better with a bloody lip and his hair falling in his face.”

    Peter nodded a bit. “So I can safely take it you’re gay?”

   Hadrian “hn”ed. “I am, but I wasn’t really talking about sexual attraction, more just aesthetic attraction this time.”

    They turned their attention back to the screen in time to catch Olivia and Stieg staring each other down. “I… have nothing…to say.” Stieg said, leaning back in his seat. Olivia stared him down for another moment before gathering up the file and pen and leaving the room.

    Peter and Hadrian both watched her walk out of the Personnel Only doors talking on her phone. Peter shook his head a little bit before the screen caught his attention again. Stieg had folded his hands together on top of the table and leaned forwards, staring directly into the camera that was transmitting. Peter himself leaned forward, like a predator sensing being challenged. Which was, essentially, what had happened even though Stieg couldn’t have possibly known who would be on the other end to receive his challenge. It really was his bad luck that it happened to be Peter, and of course Hadrian was going to be there to watch his soulmate work.

    Hadrian almost wanted to smirk when he saw Peter’s jaw clench just the slightest bit. “How do you want to play this? ‘Cause no way are you letting that challenge go unanswered.”

    Peter tapped his fingers along the edge of his coffee mug, his mind already finding the most efficient solution. This time Hadrian did let his mouth curl into a sardonic smirk. “I’m sure we can make that work. And don’t you think it would be more intimidating with the two of us?”

    Peter glanced to him before letting loose a feral grin and quickly standing. “Walter, stay here.”

    Hadrian and Peter made their way to the Personnel Only doors very casually, even if it was mostly unnecessary on Hadrian’s part since his wasn’t a visitor’s pass like Peter’s.

    They entered the room Stieg was in, Hadrian before Peter. Hadrian moved like a panther, slow, graceful, deadly, and silent across the room as Peter carefully shut the door. He turned to face Stieg and said matter-of-factly, “That compound affecting Agent Scott, it’s water-soluble, right?”

    Stieg gave him a suspicious look and leaned back a little. Hadrian prowled closer in the area just over Stieg’s should, between the corner of his eye and behind him: the number one place to make people twitchy because they get not only the feeling of someone unsafe at their back but it’s instinctual to jerk to look when something is on your peripheral. Hadrian stayed in that area, prowling around, occasionally getting a _mite_ too close, keeping Stieg constantly and even more so, on edge.

    Peter continued, “We might not know what it is, but we know what it does… So if I wanted to, I could extract the contaminated fluids from his body. That would allow me to slip it to you whenever I wanted to.” There was a tense moment as Stieg met Peter’s eye full on. Peter gave a little shrug.

    “In your food…” Hadrian said somewhat near Stieg’s ear, making him jump in his seat, having been so thoroughly caught up in Peter’s talking that he forgot about Hadrian.

    “Cup of coffee…” Peter continued without missing a beat, gesturing with his mug before he set it down, holding it by the rim in his palm.

    Hadrian leaned closer to Stieg’s ear, “In the toilet… No one would ever know how it happened.”

    “The only problem is…” Peter’s voice was getting darker. “That woman who was just in here, that’s her friend who is dying”—here it started to get a bit brittle with something like angered impatience—“so I just don’t have that kind of time.”

    Stieg looked away to roll his eyes, having no idea who was in the room with him and that at least one of them was in no way bound to the law and incapable of hurting him. Peter grabbed him by the handcuffs and pulled his arms flat across the table. Stieg tried to give a short protest of “no” before Peter slammed his mug down hard and, if Hadrian wasn’t mistaken, at a little bit of an angle so that the edge really dug in. “Tell me the chemicals. Now,” Peter demanded as Stieg screamed.

    Olivia burst into the room and shouted for Peter to stop, telling him he couldn’t do that. To which Peter replied, “No, no, _you_ can’t do that,” before he turned back to Stieg, who let out a low, scared, and pained noise. Peter continued, his voice like a knife under silk, “I want the names of the chemicals. I’m gonna count to one.”

    Olivia was conflicted but ultimately her drive to do near-anything to save the man she loved kicked in and though her hands fluttered around, she didn’t actually make much of a move to stop what was going on.

    Peter slammed the mug down on his hand again and Stieg screamed but then with a shouted, “Alright!” that was several pitches higher than his average and then he gave them the list of chemicals.

    They rounded up Walter and raced back to Kresge Building, all the way back Walter and Peter picked apart the list and puzzled together how it had managed to have quite such an effect on Agent Scott.

    By the time they were flying through the doors of the basement Walter was saying, “The active toxin was magnesium-based ethylene glycol.”

    Peter tried to argue his point by rebutting, “I understand that. You’re not listening—”

    Walter carried on, “A magnesium ethylene glycol base with an organophosphate trigger.”

    “Walter, just stop for a second. His blood won’t be able to absorb it before the side effects kill him!”

    Walter was shrugging on a white lab coat, “So you’re saying what? We synthesize a calcium gluconate in a thiamine base?”

    “Yes, exactly.” Peter said a bit triumphantly at finally hearing that his idea was taken into account.

    “We can’t,” Walter rejected. “We need more of his blood; we have none.”

    Olivia had been lost in all the science talk but now she had something to contribute, “That’s not true. All agents are required to set up a back-up blood supply in case we’re wounded.”

    “Autologous transfusion. That’s brilliant,” the Bishops answered in synch. Peter continued, “We can create the antidote and then just dissolve it into Scott’s stored blood. If we transfuse him intravenously, his body won’t be overwhelmed.

    “A plus, boy.” Walter complimented him. “Well done. Let’s begin.”

   

 

    What followed were several hours of hard work by the Bishops, with Astrid and Hadrian helping out when they could and Olivia getting Agent Scott’s stored blood.

    When Olivia went to take a break and stretch her legs, she was met with Broyles. “So I got the lab,” he said as she passed him by. She chuckled without any real amusement and sat down at a nearby bench, “Yeah, I know you did.” She sighed out a thanks.

    “How’s it going downstairs?” He asked as he joined her on the bench.

    “Uhh… Dr. Bishop said it would be a while but that it is looking auspicious. That was his word.”

    Broyles stared at her for a bit with something a little like incredulity until she asked, “What?” and he answered: “You’ve done some solid work here: Locating Bishop… getting him out, finding a way to get him to work with you.” He paused. “We’re impressed.”

    Olivia had been unimpressed by his assessment of her work, owing to his treatment of her at the start of this case and since. “Who’s ‘we’?” She asked abruptly in challenge.

    Broyles responded, “What happened on that plane, might a part of something more dangerous than just simple terrorism.”

    “‘Simple’ terrorism?”

   Broyles opened his briefcase and pulled out some of the files for his recruitment speech for Olivia Dunham. It did not go quite the way he had hoped but had, realistically, gone the way he expected. Mostly with a bit of horror over the cases he had shown her, her storming out, and a refusal of his offer stating she “just wanted things to go back to before.”

    “Dunham,” he said with something like a sigh and said, not unkindly, “I don’t think you can.”

    She walked off and Broyles was left standing there staring after her. He felt a presence come up next to him. “I don’t think you have to worry about that one,” a British lilt said. The voice was a midrange tenor, pleasant to listen to. “I think… by the time this case is over, she won’t even think about being anywhere else.”

    “Auror Potter,” Broyles greeted, turning to the man next to him. He couldn’t say it was a surprise to feel the knife currently pressed into his abdomen.

    “That’s not my name anymore,” His companion said icily.

    “I wanted you aware that I knew your name and pretty much everything about you that I possibly could. There is no way I would endanger my team by having an unknown quantity but rest assured I will not betray you. Not unless you give me a reason to anyway. I would, however, like to hear your end of the story. From Savior to Dark Lord is a long way to fall on only the word of two people.”

    Hadrian snorted, taking the knife away from Broyles’ side. “Shall we take this inside?” He suggested. “I think you came here for more than just to talk to Dunham. You also came to see their progress and get a feel for the team itself. Come, there’s an office we can use for me to tell you my story. Be warned that I’ll need to set some precautions up in your mind to that no matter what, you can actually _keep_ the information to yourself. Even if a wizard or witch comes looking for me.”

    Broyles had indeed wanted to get a feel for his hopefully soon-to-be-new team. Upon entering the lab and getting a feel for the place, he finally met Dr. Bishop and Peter Bishop in person. Dr. Bishop appeared to be exactly what he needed for a science member while Peter Bishop could work field and science. Junior Agent Farnsworth added a certain level of competence and made sure the lab was running smoothly like a well-oiled machine. Philip caught the looks between Lovegood and Bishop but figured asking about it could wait until he heard Lovegood’s story.

    Broyles was, lastly, introduced to Gene the Cow before Lovegood lead him to the side office and they sat down, Hadrian backwards in a chair facing Broyles. Then Hadrian spoke. He spoke of Dumbledore’s childhood, his family, his crush on the Dark Lord Grindlewald, the fight and his sister’s death. He spoke about a young Tom Riddle and horcruxes and Riddle’s spiraling insanity. He spoke of a rigged prophecy and Dumbledore’s many, many manipulations to turn him into the Light’s scapegoated Martyr and the final betrayals of those he had called family. He spoke of how his powers had grown and of his adopted brother and sister and their ends. He spoke of the endless tortures the Granger Trio had forced him through. He spoke of how they had carved magic suppression runes into his flesh and bone and then he showed them those. He showed him the blank spots across a row of his ribs where one of the arrays failed. He spoke of St. Claire’s and how he’d been there most of the last four years and how he had thought he’d most likely go insane or die there and how he’d finally just _left_ on Thursday. He even spoke of what came after: Gringott’s and the Will and having his blood and name changed and calling on Magic to Judge his case and of being Judged innocent, though he didn’t go into detail of how the Granger Trio died, just that they did, the same way he didn’t go into detail about just _how_ the array had failed. When he was finished he asked if Broyles had any questions.

    There was a long, long moment of silence before Broyles said; “Now I want to know… Just _what_ is between you and Peter Bishop because I can see something is, and I _know_ he and Dunham went to St. Claire’s Thursday to pick up Dr. Bishop. So enlighten me.”

    Hadrian pursed his mouth but knew the man was only asking so that he could do his absolute best by his team. It was that noble and loyal way of thinking that got him a straight and _truthful_ answer. “The runic array that failed—I should say fell—did so because it overloaded. The array was to suppress the magical bonds attached to my core; the main purpose of which was to make me unable to call upon my house elves. Of course, that wasn’t the only thing it did but it’s what they cared about the most. It got overloaded, however, because of the sheer _power_ that coursed through it when a new bond was formed. This bond was one that Hermione never thought could happen, never believed could happen. You see, if she’d have made calculations for it, the array might not have overloaded but soul bonds were pretty much _meant_ to be absolute. Soulmates and soul bonds are pretty much sacred in our world and it carries the worst punishment to interfere with them.

    “And that’s what Peter is to me: my soulmate, though he doesn’t know this yet. It was because he touched me, skin on skin, that the soul bond snapped into place and overloaded the array and it was to meet with and stay by him that I finally broke free from my cage and left.”

    Broyles nodded slowly. “So I take it you plan to court him? Or something like it? I’ll make sure I prepare for inevitable outcomes. For now, I’d like to know exactly what you can do, ability- and magic-wise, and how you are going to go about making sure no one can get this information out of my mind.”

    So Hadrian explained about his various, mostly mind-related abilities and how he would build a ‘thought shelter’ that only Broyles could enter—well, and Hadrian but that was mostly because _nobody could keep him out_ —and how he’d make it so any thought of Hadrian, his identity, and the Fringe team, would automatically get put there, to which Broyles very happily agreed, knowing the kind of bullshit wizards and telepaths in general got up to. He also suggested that once everybody knew of his powers and/or magic, that he offer the same protection before he left.

    Walter finished the last bit of science and then hooked up the blood infusion, adding the bright green cure. Peter was standing and keeping a close eye on Scott’s position when Hadrian came up beside him. He glanced over to Peter before he stepped forward and placed his hands in a hovering position on either side of John Scott’s head before he immersed himself in his mind, connecting to him on a deeper level than Hadrian had attempted in a while. He mostly stayed out of Scott’s thoughts and memories and instead focused on the bodily sensations such a close mental connection.

    “What are you doing?” Peter asked softly.

    Hadrian had closed his eyes as he sank into John Scott’s mind and didn’t open them as he replied to Peter, crooking a wry smile, “It _was **such a shame**_ that you all didn’t have a telepath when you did the synaptic system transfer.”

    “Are you saying you’re a telepath?”

    Hadrian hummed, “That’s not what the wizarding world calls it but yes. As for what I’m doing, well, I’m sure you’d be pleased to know that Agent’s Scott’s body is accepting the cure and he should be awake in… approximately… two hours.”

    “…How _exactly_ can you tell that?” Peter asked with a small hint of the note his voice takes whenever Walter talks _fringe science_.

    “I can naturally sense all the minds within my range, usually I just do a sort of passive observation but I can also reach out to other minds and do all sorts of things to them. The more I focus on a mind… I refer to it as ‘forming a connection’ though that’s not quite accurate. But… I can actually possess people and their minds. What I’m doing is a few degrees lesser than that. It’s a bit like… it’s hard to explain. I get the sensory input that’s routed through their brain and in essence can… ‘eavesdrop’ on their perceptions. I’m using this connection to observe Agent Scott’s bodily reactions to the cure and his state of health. I’m filtering out as much of his thoughts and memories as possible and instead focusing on his bodily perceptions.”

    “So you can hear my thoughts?”

    “Don’t take it personally. It’s not like I can turn it off; even the wizarding counter to it which builds mental shields so that your mind can’t be read, doesn’t work against me.”

    Peter was silent as he processed this, his genius brain working a mile a minute before he asked, “Can you project into others’ minds?”

    Hadrian caught glimpses of multiple applications he could theoretically use it for. Some of them were quite literally nightmarish and some of them—

    “Your thought processes are very interesting, Peter,” he said with a half-smile that was somewhere between wry and a grimace. “I suppose I could on the first thing but as for the second”—he felt Peter’s arousal flare a bit with the thought—“it would normally take a bit too much concentration so no. However, if I were to have a bond with the person then yes, I could.”

    “A bond? Is that different from a connection?”

    “A bond is a connection from both sides and of those, there are several different bonds. Bonds act, at their most basic level, like a…” he gave a wry little smile, “a sting between two tin cans.” Peter groaned and rolled his eyes at the illustration that Walter had used yesterday. “There’s family bonds and ties, marriage ones, the ties from oaths and vows; all kinds. They all anchor themselves into our magical core and soul, and depending on the type and strength, can be anything from a string to an actual mental bond and connection like you would think of one.”

    Peter hummed in thought as Hadrian backed away from Scott. He could visibly see the difference with each passing second and minute. 

 

 

    He’d gone out to grab everyone dinner when Agent Scott woke up. Hadrian felt the jolt of excitement and _ohmygodhe’sawake_ from his soulmate so he got something easy on the body for Scott to eat while he was at it.

    When he arrived back at the lab, he parceled out the food, separating what was to go to whom. He gave Walter his curry and rice and asked if Agent Scott would be alright eating the hearty vegetable soup he’d gotten from the greek place he’d gotten Olivia’s food. After getting an affirmative answer, Hadrian left went to give Peter his food.

    He handed over the cheeseburger with extra bacon and smirked at Peter when he let out a groan from the taste. He might have even caught an _ohmygodithinkimightloveyou_ though if that thought was directed at him or the burger he couldn’t really tell. He left Peter with a comment thrown over his shoulder about not eating that in front of Gene.

    He found Olivia and John ensconced in a private but made comfortable part of the lab talking to each other. The atmosphere was intimate so Hadrian called out to them from across the way. “Agent Dunham, Agent Scott; I brought you both dinner.”

    Olivia waved him forwards with a bright smile made gentle by the presence of the man she loved. “What you get she asked?” With a subtly teasing tone that told of how the last week had worn on her and how she was totally ecstatic now that John was no longer dying. “I hadn’t really expected dinner here since I was going to go to the hospital with John and then just scrounge for something to eat.”

    “I figured there was enough time for a meal before Agent Scott would be transferred back over to the hospital. As for food: you, Agent Dunham get some Greek from a little place I heard some people recommend and Agent Scott gets vegetable soup since he’s been in a coma for about three days and hasn’t eaten.” He turned his attention fully on John Scott and held out his hand that wasn’t weighed down by food. “Agent Hadrian Lovegood, of Fringe Division; I was requested to consult on this case, due to past work experience. It is very good to meet you, Agent Scott; you had many worried for you these past few days. Oh, and Dr. Bishop said you could have a bit of pita bread but not too much since it would be pushing your body’s system.”

    John Scott’s mind had flashed steel and suspicion when Hadrian had introduced himself as part of Fringe Division, as Hadrian knew it would. John’s handshake was a bit hard and his jaw was subtly clenched. Hadrian couldn’t help the fox-grin smile that showed a bit too many teeth. It wasn’t that he didn’t like John Scott it just somehow seemed a bit fun to mess with people, especially with things they or you weren’t supposed to know. Though… John Scott was dangerous, so he should probably make an effort to rectify this.

    “I’ve been following Agent Dunham’s lead and prioritized your recovery and haven’t had much time to look into anything else regarding the case…. Come to think of it, I only joined today, didn’t I? It feels like so much longer. It’s a good thing we managed to catch Stieg, maybe we’ll finally get somewhere substantial regarding what happened on Flight 627.” John had tensed a little when Hadrian mentioned Stieg and speaking to him. “Ah, but you two would probably like to eat alone,” Hadrian said, not giving them time to argue for the sake of politeness. “I left my food with Peter anyways. Have a good meal, Agent Dunham, Agent Scott, I hope you enjoy it.” He nodded to each of them in turn and walked back to where he had left his food—not with Peter but well out of Walter’s way.

 

 

    Hadrian didn’t go with Olivia to the hospital the next morning. He had a tension headache from the heavy foreboding that was hanging so thickly that morning, especially around Olivia and, he suspected, John Scott. If he was right though, he wanted to be there when it ended. So he got a ride with Charlie who visited the hospital after Olivia had already left to go back to Stieg’s place to dig up the recording he had left there.

    By the time Charlie arrived at the hospital to visit John, he’d already killed Stieg though Charlie didn’t know it yet. In fact, Hadrian could feel him make his way to a parking lot as calmly looking as he could manage.

    Hadrian could feel Olivia getting closer. He heard Olivia radio Charlie to check on Stieg. Olivia was almost here. Scott was fumbling as he tried to hotwire a blue sedan since he wasn’t actually back up to 100 percent yet. Charlie found Stieg dead, smothered by his pillow and he yelled for the hospital to be locked down.

    Hadrian made his way to the ambulances at a steady walk.

    Olivia pulled up to the front of the hospital at the exact time Scott managed to get the engine turned over. She jogged towards the door but he made the mistake of causing the tires on the sedan to screech which caught Olivia’s attention. Their eyes met and there was _such regret_ in Scott’s mind; there was no real way for this to end and be alright.

    Scott fled. She called radioed for backup and slammed into her car to follow him. It was so disorienting, following both of their minds. Hadrian closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, knowing he was close to the ambulances and that he had a few minutes.

    He continued on. Scott was still fleeing though he had pretty much accepted that he was a loose end about to be tied. The fact that Olivia was the one in the car next to him, trying to chase him down was like a dagger to the heart for him but he had done more heartless things than try to force a loved one semi-safely off the road.

    The ambulances were dispatching to the scenes of the various accidents caused by this high-speed chase through Boston. He found the one that would, eventually, take him to Olivia and flashed his badge and in the voice that never failed to gain compliance had them take him with them.

    He wasn’t fully there during that ride. His head was bowed as he hunched forwards on his elbows. His eyes were closed and he mouthed along to Agent Scott’s words, “Ask yourself why. Why Broyles sent you…to the storage facility. Why you?”

    Hadrian took a deep breath and leaned back as he felt the mind of John Scott leave the world. He texted Agent Francis to say he’d taken an ambulance and would be with Olivia until Charlie could get her and that he’d look after her in the meantime.

    Olivia was still in shock when the ambulance rolled up. She was ushered into the back while the paramedics went to tend those they could in the immediate area. About thirty seconds after they were gone Olivia completely broke down.

    Hadrian went to her from where he’d moved out of the way as the paramedics went back and forth and he sat down beside her. She looked out blindly as the medics moved around, taking huge, gasping breaths as tears streamed down her face. When she went to wipe what was most likely tears mixed with snot through her hair Hadrian stopped her and gently pulled her into an embrace which only made her sob harder.

    Hadrian gently rocked them as she hung onto Hadrian for dear life. “Let it out, let it out,” Hadrian crooned soothingly to her and made shushing noises. “I know the devastation that you feel when you find out the ones you love and that loved you betrayed you and I know the heartbreak of a loved one dying in front of you as you’re helpless to stop it. Just let it out—cry it, scream it, anything.” He told her softly as he petted her hair and held her close with all the brotherly love he could muster, holding as he would Luna. Olivia did cry and sob and scream. By the time Charlie came to pick her up she was on the way to becoming composed again.

    Charlie took him aside briefly. “Thank you,” he said lowly. “She’s a precious friend; I’ve been looking after since she was a rookie at basic training. Did you want to catch a ride with—”

    Hadrian cut him off. “I got it covered; I think it’s Best Friend Time for you two and that would be better off if I’m not there. I’ll just flag down an agent or a taxi and get it to take me to the lab. The Bishops were going to get pick up in a little while or so and I’d like to say goodbye.”

    “You’re sure?” There was that chivalry and warm concern that was such an endearing part of this man. “Yes.” Hadrian paused, considering. “Truth be told, I don’t actually need a ride to get anywhere, especially if I’m familiar with the place.”

    “What do you mean?”

    “Let’s just say for now… that I _am_ a fringe event,” Hadrian said with a smile that had way too many teeth and was almost more like baring them than smiling.

    Charlie just blinked a bit slowly before saying, “Alright.” Apparently, knowing there was far more weird in the world than he’d previously believed and Hadrian having been there and comforted his best friend was enough to earn him some points in the ‘I-won’t-automatically-disbelieve-you’ category.

  

 

    Hadrian showed up at Harvard before the agents that were sent to take the Bishops back to their hotel. He walked into the lab to hear Walter telling Peter about the work he remembered doing in the 70’s. Peter’s mind was full of horror and the need to flee, to find something safer, some _where_ safer.

    When Walter paused Hadrian called out, “Hello, the lab!”

    “Harry!” Walter greeted with enthusiasm. Peter just said a quiet, “Hello, Rian” as Hadrian made his way over to where the two were sitting on high stools and sat at a spare one.

    “My name got changed, Walter. It’s no longer Harry Potter but Hadrian Lovegood.” He explained to Walter for the first time, now that no one else was around.

    “Lovegood, Lovegood. That was the name of your sister, wasn’t it? Your little moon,” Walter was still nicely lucid, which meant this information was probably going to be stored in the ‘important: remember’ bin in Walter’s mind along such things as the bakery he’d found with the really good apple fritters and Agent Scott’s name which he hadn’t forgotten or pretended to, like Astrid’s.

    “Yes, she was the one that changed my name actually.”

    “More than your name changed,” Walter said shrewdly.

    Hadrian gave a self-deprecating smile. “She reshuffled my DNA and made our shared Lovegood blood along with my Black blood stronger than my Evans and Potter, making me more closely related to her than even my parents.”

    “Oh?” Walter was intrigued. “And how did she manage that?”

    Hadrian gave him a kind and slightly pitying and overall apologetic smile. “Something’s are not ours, Walter,” he said quietly, voice slightly strained.

    Walter lost the gleam that had entered his eye at the thought of finding out how to _reshuffle DNA to make a bloodline more prominent_. “Something’s are God’s,” Walter finished lowly with his head bowed in shame and repentance.

    Hadrian sighed. “One day,” he stated, “one day you’ll find your white tulip, Walter.”

    Peter had been quiet throughout this. It irritated him that they were ignoring him so completely and that they were speaking of things they obviously weren’t going to tell him about. Nonetheless, he set his mind to observing and reading them and was finding some very interesting things to add to the puzzles that were both, Walter Bishop and Hadrian Lovegood.

    When it looked like the conversation stalled Peter broke the silence by saying, “So, your sister changed you name and genetic coding. What’s your full name?”

    “Hadrian Lovegood-Black. As far as I’m aware she didn’t give me a middle—” he cut off as he felt a nudge he’d never felt before. It was reminiscent of when his parents and family of choice had stood before him in the Forest when he’d walked to his death and when Magic was Judging him. Hadrian figured it was Magic and Luna teaming up together even through the veil to correct his ignorance. He let his mind drift and accept the knowledge of his true name. “I am Hadrian Pleiades Lovegood-Black, also called Haddy or Rian.”

    “What was that?” Peter asked cautiously.

    “Hn, just a nudge.” Peter didn’t look quite like he believed him but Hadrian didn’t say anything else about it. Instead he changed the subject by asking, “Are you going to stay?”

    “Is there a reason to?” Peter rebutted, a little out of curiosity and a lot out of sarcasm.

    “Hm, I believe Olivia is on her way here to convince you to stay because she’s going to accept Broyles’ offer to work as a Fringe Team and the other most critical member would be Walter but as she’ll put it ‘you’re the only one who speaks Walter.’ Plus, you’d make a good member for your diversity; you have the skills to work in the lab and in the field. So, she really rather needs you both.”

    “What happened to Agent Scott?” Peter’s eyes narrowed as well-honed ‘something’s not right’ alarms went off in his head.

    “Earlier he murdered Stieg and tried to flee, resulting in a high-speed chase with Olivia right behind him. He died in the chase and is presumed a traitor but don’t even let on that you know this.”

    Peter nodded gravely, thinking about how awful it must have been for Olivia, who had _so obviously_ loved John Scott and had spent the better part of this week desperately searching for _any_ way to save him, even standing by and allowing things that went against her morals and clearly feeling uncomfortable about them. But she did them anyways, for the man she loved and Peter could and did respect her for that. “You’ll be a part of this new team?” Peter asked Hadrian.

    Hadrian nodded, “That was the plan from the beginning.”

    “And if I decided to leave?” Peter pressed, something in him telling him that all of Hadrian’s efforts had been for him.

    Hadrian couldn’t— _wouldn’t_ —lie to his soulmate, even if he wasn’t ready to tell him what they were to each other. But Hadrian had always had to be pushed into things to make progress so he wouldn't put too much of an effort into dodging questions that would inevitably lead to having to tell Peter. “I…would go with you.” Peter’s eyes flashed a bit, in dark satisfaction from Rian’s words, in pleasure of getting an answer and even more so, getting a truthful answer. “But,” Hadrian continued, “I think… you were born for this work, same as Olivia.

    “For now, the agents are here to take you, and me, I suppose, back to our hotel.”

    “ _Our_ hotel?” Peter repeated sardonically.

    “Didn’t you know?” Hadrian said, voice as sweet as an angel’s and smile as wicked as the devil’s, “My hotel room is _directly across the hall_ from yours.”

 

 

    After that, Charlie pulled up with Olivia in the passenger seat and Hadrian waved at him, smirking a little bit, as Olivia got out. She asked to talk to Peter and gave him a hot mess of a recruitment speech that he eventually sort of accepted.

    Approximately four hours later, John Scott’s corpse was being rolled along a gurney deep under the Massive Dynamic building.

    “How long has it been since he died?” Nina Sharp questioned as she folded back the white sheet that covered his body so she could see his face.

    “Five hours,” The technician wheeling him in replied.

    She nodded decisively before giving a two word command: “Question him.”

**Author's Note:**

> And that's the first episode. I'm a bit at a loss now. Should I rewrite every episode or make a mix of drabbles and longer fics following Hadrian and the team?


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